


The Scars Left Behind

by cybergirl614



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 10, Angst, Blood and Violence, Broken Dean, Caring Castiel, Caring Dean, Concerned Sam, Couch Cuddles, Dean Needs Castiel, Desperate Dean, Destiel - Freeform, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Castiel, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Love Confessions, M/M, Making Out, Mark of Cain, Metatron Being a Dick, My First Destiel Fanfic, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Not Canon Compliant, Novel, POV Multiple, Plotty, Possessive Dean, Protective Dean Winchester, Relationship(s), Romance, Self-Sacrifice, Sharing a Bed, Sharing a Room, Shut Up Kiss, Slash, Slow Build, Suicidal Dean, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, Unrequited Castiel/Hannah (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-03-31 08:57:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 46,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3971845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cybergirl614/pseuds/cybergirl614
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean never let himself see just how much he needed Cas until it was too late. Now he'll do anything to get him back, no matter the consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: The One Who Gripped You Tight

**Author's Note:**

> The prologue is a slashier rewrite of Lazarus Rising from Dean's point of view. If you want to skip to the point it really diverges from canon, in chapter two, go ahead. Major thanks goes to my beta, MAPMonstersArePerceptions.

Dean looked down at his chest, gingerly raising the hem of his teeshirt before he sucked in a breath and yanked it all the way up, waiting to see the damage. What he saw in the mirror shook him more than the blood and mangled flesh he’d prepared himself for. 

“How?” he breathed, tracing the pristine skin with his battered fingertips, still stained with dirt from the grave. How? He could feel the icy terror of the hellhound descending upon him, 40 years of agony ago as if it had only been moments, the sickening ripping, blinding pain, and the viscerally resonating snapping of ribs as his body was torn apart before his own eyes… 

Suppressing a shudder, he shook himself, trying to chase the sensations from his mind, focusing instead on the real, present throb in his sore fingers and hands, and the incredible dryness and hunger that burned in his throat and stomach.  
As he did so, he became aware of a feeling in his shoulder, a strange sense of heat searing through the flesh, which only grew as he focused in on it. This, this was new. Whatever it was, the heat flared to a grueling, burning pain as his attention came to it. 

Frowning, he ripped back the sleeve to his shirt, mouth gaping when he saw the source of the pain. 

A large, blood-red handprint was scorched into the flesh of his shoulder, emblazoned like a brand. Seeing it made him sputter, for the first instant in awe of whatever had such power to leave such a mark with touch alone, then with anger at the possibility of the answer, which had formed rapidly in his mind.  
“Damnit, Sammy,” he muttered. “What the hell did you do?” 

……..

“Wishful thinking, but maybe it’s the wind?” Bobby suggested at the loud rattling noise the barn's roof was making in the wind.

 

Just then, a man appeared in the far side of the room, walking slowly through the traps, his expression an unreadable mixture of determined, curious, and thoughtful. Not that Dean cared—he and Bobby were too busy unloading the contents of their shotguns, salt and regular shells to boot, in his gutt to worry too much about that. Except when they ran out, he kept right on going. 

Bobby was the first to react when he ran out of bullets. He lunged at the man who had appeared beneath the bursting lightbulbs, but the strange man swung him around, easily redirecting his blows. The man pressed his fingertips to Bobby’s head, sending him dropping to the floor like a stone, the empty gun useless as it clattered away to rest at his side. 

Dean skittered back, grabbing for the demon-killing knife. He landed a solid blow with it in the man’s chest, the knife protruding from the ribs near the midline of his body, buried up to the hilt. Dean realized momentarily, after the shock of the man not fighting back, that he wasn’t dying, either—

The man paused, looking down at it as if to have just realized its presence, and pulled it out easily, dropping it to the floor. Dean took a few steps back now, searching for anything, anything at all that could help, but there was nothing. And if he was immune to salt, bullets, traps and the demon killing knife, Dean realized….what in the room wasn’t he immune to?

“What are you?” Dean hurled the question, which was as much an accusation. His tone and expression projected danger as he regarded the trench-coated stranger, who had just crossed all the traps and dropped Bobby like it was nothing. He stood before Dean, staring with a maddening blue-eyed gaze, ignoring the bullet-holes and stab wound ripped into his chest like nothing at all had happened.

“I am the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.” He said, his intense stare remaining locked in rabid eye contact with the hunter. 

“Wh—“ Dean mumbled, incredulity twisting his expression. “How—“ 

The way the man kept looking at him wasn’t helping his ability to form sensible words, either. It was like being dissected alive, standing on the receiving end of that stare, like being stripped naked, only in a far more unsettling manner than the physical could ever have possibly been. It was like he could see down into his very soul, dissecting and analyzing the darkest tendrils of being therein. Dean shifted uneasily, trying unsuccessfully to break away from the mesmerizing face of the angel. 

“But…what in the hell are you? What did you do?!”

“I am an Angel of the Lord. He’s merely sleeping.” Castiel nodded to Bobby where he lay on the floor. “And you, Dean Winchester, there are many things Heaven needs you to do.”

“Like what? Heaven wasn't there when I needed them, so hell if I’m gonna go out of my way to help you harp-playing freaks.“

“I was there, Dean, when you needed me. It was God’s will that you be lifted from Hell. We angels are far from ‘harp playing freaks.’ We are powerful warriors of God, capable of helping those in need, and smiting the wicked.” 

“Yeah, well, harp playing freaks would be better. You burned that woman’s eyes out of her head earlier. And what in the hell kind of angel does that? Oh, and I guess you left something earlier when, uh, ‘helping’?” Dean shucked off his outer shirt and pulled up the sleeve to his tee as he spoke, revealing the scorch mark on his arm. “I mean really, what is this, your brand or something? And what do you think I am, your bitch?” 

 

“No, Dean,” Castiel shook his head, “I was assigned to protect you. Heaven needs you. The mark was incidental, an effect of an angel touching a soul in Hell that was already as darkened by the horrors of its depths as yours. And the woman sealed her own fate. I warned her not to look at me.”

“Great, so an angel who goes around blinding people is calling me dark and twisted. Good to know,” Dean scoffed. 

“That isn’t what I’ve said at all. But let me know, if you reconsider. Call if you require assistance. I must go now, but I’ll be in touch. Heaven needs you.” With that, Castiel disappeared as he’d come. 

 

Dean scoffed loudly, muttering to himself, the world spinning in his mind. 

Angels… A real angel had made that mark, a real angel had pulled him out. Not a demon but…the opposite. He flashed back in his mind to the way Castiel had kept staring at him. Was this all angels, he wondered, or just this one, that had this kind of effect? 

Bobby sat up suddenly, his expression twisted with alarm. 

“What the hell was that?” He asked, looking around as if he hardly believed he was still alive and in the same place.

“That,” Dean replied slowly, “Was an angel. A real, live angel.”

“You really think so?” Bobby asked. “And why in the hell didn’t it kill me?” 

“According to him? He’s here to protect me,” Dean scoffed. 

“Protect you? From what?” Bobby scoffed. 

“Hell if I know. Oh, and get this. He said to call him.” 

“How?”

“I dunno, it’s not like angels carry phones, do they?” Dean shrugged, offering Bobby a hand up, which he took. 

“Search me. My guess is it’s like praying. I mean you could just yell his name or something, yeah ? And this is really that Castiel that blinded Pam earlier?” 

“Yeah, same guy. Oh. And he said it was her fault, not his.” Dean snorted, hoping his derisive tone hid the reality of his emotions as his mind reeled. 

As much as he wanted to hate the angel for what he’d done to Pamela, and how every instinct screamed to not trust such an obviously powerful mysterious being, something inside him refused to budge. 

There was something maddeningly appealing in the way he stood and spoke, a handsome man utterly ignoring what should have been multiple fatal wounds. And there was something else, something riveting in the sheer intensity he projected that Dean couldn't quite put into words. 

An angel, though, he berated himself. He knew nothing of them; this Castiel could kill him next time they met, and there’d be nothing Dean could do to stop him. Still, something in the way he spoke, even if what he’d said wasn’t true… Against all logic, Dean didn’t quite fear him like he had the other creatures. The revulsion wasn’t there at all, and the anger, though present, was waning. How? He thought. How can he be having this effect on me? He wondered. 

But instead of a logical answer, all he could think of was the way Castiel had kept looking at him. That stare…whether he’d admit it to himself or not, now or ever, he wanted to get to know the owner of that stare.


	2. When It's Time to Live and Let Die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Dean takes Cas to follow up on a potential lead on his grace, things go horribly wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is derived from Green Day's 21 Guns.

Months passed. Dean still wanted to get to know him more, in a different way, but he never got the chance. There was always something, always an uprising, always a death, of one or the other that tore them apart and pasted them back together. Heaven and Hell waged war, and he clung to Cas and his brother, and Bobby, in a desperate bid to retain any remnant of sanity, if any even remained. 

Months turned into years. Bobby had died, and somewhere along the way, Dean had come to trust Castiel as he trusted no one else besides Sam. Maybe even more, in some ways. Still, never had there been a time right to see if there was more. Yet, whenever he looked at the angel, he felt the same desire. That same feeling he thought he could see when the angel looked at him, but he was never quite ready to ask, all the same.

They had gone to search out a potential lead on Castiel’s grace since he was running on borrowed time with the grace Crowley had given him. 

Cas had heard from one of the few angels that would still speak to him that there had been a disturbance in the area around the time of the Fall. There were no guarantees, but it had seemed as good a lead as any, so they had taken it. He had ridden with Dean in the Impala because, in truth, he didn’t have the reserves to so much as travel, something which at one point would have been effortless.

But Dean knew, and he’d offered, so Castiel had taken him up on it. 

And of course, the lead had been nothing. He should have felt something if his grace was there, in the field, or on the edge of the rocky slope they’d climbed, but it wasn’t there. However, something else had been. Someone had been expecting them--

There were several demons around them now, backing them up against the wall of rock of the cliff. Dean looked at Cas, who nodded, his blade falling into his hand. 

 

He might not be capable of smiting with a touch any more, but he still could fight, as Dean could. His blade could still kill demons, and he was a skilled as any with it in a fight.

 

“Well, if it isn’t that shamed angel with a stolen grace and his human pet,” one of the demons smirked, stepping forwards with an angel blade in hand. “Nicolai was right. He said you’d be here, and you were.” 

The demon scoffed at the pair, taking in Cas’ falling expression and Dean’s sound of outrage. “Oh, really. You know there’s plenty of us, in Hell, and in Heaven, too, that will be very glad to see you go.”

“Yeah well, that’s not happening today,” Dean muttered, moving between Cas and the demons. The lead demon moved to strike, and for an instant it looked like it was going to hit Dean—but there was a loud clang, the demon grunting as the blow met resistance. Dean had met the blow with his own blade, and was grappling with the demon to get leverage. 

A pair of demons stepped forwards to occupy Cas, taking the whole of his attention as he fought them off. He stabbed one through the chest, the power and life flaring momentarily as he pulled his blade free. He scrambled away from the other as he stood to fight it too now, but was too slow-the other landed a blow to his shoulder which severed the flesh to the bone. 

He dodged and parried blows from the other for a few seconds before he found an opening and stabbed it in the gut. 

He stood over it, pressing a hand to his wounded shoulder, feeling the depth of the injury. It was gushing blood as if the artery were severed. He paused momentarily, considering how much power it would take to heal it, grudginly allowing only the smallest bits to be used to stop the worst of the bleeding. Even as he grew lightheaded, from both exsanguination and the expenditure of his powers, he remembered he wasn't alone. He turned around, looking for Dean. He found him, hunched over the demon he'd taken on. Except, Cas realized, there was blood pouring down his side, too. 

Please, Dean, let me," Cas murmured, groaning as he made his way, only a few laborious yards, to where Dean stood, struggling to stay upright

Dean didn't reply, shaking his head as he stumbled backwards a few steps as Cas reached for his bruised forehead. 

“No,” Dean managed to choke out, feeling the gush of air out the side of his chest as he stumbled back a step out of the angel’s immediate reach, clamping his hand to he wound try to stifle it. 

“You--don’t have enough juice—“ he mouthed the crucial words despite the lack of air to propel them forwards as a crushing pain made him curl in on himself. He felt himself falling, the spasm of blinding pain sending him curling into a little ball on the rocky ground, his eyes squeezing shut as burning hot tears mingled with blood and grime on his face.

“It doesn’t matter,” Cas replied, moving him from the fetal position so that he could reach to touch the areas near his injuries, which elicited a weak, wordless cry from the frail human. The sickeningly loud sound of air sucking at the edges of the blood-soaked wound accompanied the cry as Castiel leaned over him.

 

“I’m so sorry, Dean,” the angel said, his voice catching as he spoke. “I’m going to save you.” 

 

Dean tensed his muscles, trying to move, anything to stop Castiel, but his body wouldn’t cooperate. Instead of any meaningful action, all it earned was a squelching hiss as more air seeped out of the wound from his lungs, his vision searing crimson as pain wracked him. His limbs trembled for a moment then fell still, panic gripping him as the heaviness at the edge of unconsciousness descended upon him, suffocating out all thought but the unreasoning terror. 

 

He felt a hollow stab of pain as Castiel pressed his hands to his chest, which yanked him back from the precipice.

The angel sucked in a deep breath as he dredged up all the concentration he had inside himself to access his fleeting powers, pressing his hands into the wound to get his power as close to the injuries as possible. There was so little power left in him, he wasn't certain it would be enough to travel through Dean if he didn't, so although he knew it hurt Dean, he did it anyway. 

The agonizing pain that Dean was drowning in dulled as a ball of warmth began to grow, taking its place in his chest, intensifying as it washed through him, a wave of pure energy, which made everything seem to glow golden-white for a moment. 

As Cas removed his hands, Dean coughed, nearly convulsing as he gulped several lungfulls of air, which went in, burning yet cold.

“God, Cas,” he panted as he opened his eyes, “You didn’t have to do this. You shouldn’t have.”

“No,” the angel murmured wearily, shaking his head, “It was worth it.” 

“Don’t say that,” Dean muttered, sitting up slowly. “You don’t get to make that decision for me!“

“I—“ Castiel began, his statement breaking off abruptly as he pitched forward from where he crouched on the ground beside the human. 

“Whoah,” Dean exclaimed, scrambling to catch him by the shoulders. “Take it easy.” He eased Cas onto his side, his head in Dean’s lap. 

Dean watched the Angel’s face pale slowly, feeling for a pulse at the carotid, which he found, barely perceptible, it was so faint. 

“Cas.” He muttered sharply, expecting a reply.

But the angel didn’t stir. 

Dean jostled Cas’ shoulder, feeling his own breathing hitch a bit as he desperately wondered what to do next. To his relief, Castiel’s eyes opened slowly, laboriously, only to sag shut again instants later. 

“Damnit, Cas! Look at me!” Dean demanded, cupping the angel’s chin in his hands. “You don’t get to die, OK? Look, you need more power—touch my soul!” This roused him again, his eyes opening a bit, searching momentarily until they settled on Dean’s face. 

“Dean,” the angel’s voice was barely a hoarse whisper, his eyes growing unfocused as he spoke. 

“What? What are you waiting for?” Dean snapped, taking the angel’s hand in his own, the usually tense, powerful muscles frighteningly weak as he reached to press Castiel’s hand to his chest for him, although the angel made no useful effort to touch Dean, his fingers remaining passive, uselessly curled in against the palm of his hand where Dean pressed it against his chest.  
“I don’t want to hear it, because this isn’t goodbye.“

“Please, Dean,” Castiel struggled to get the words out, a shuddering cough accompanying a fine spray of blood on his lips. “I’m sorry. I can’t. Saving you—“ His words lapsed out of existence for a moment until he took in another ragged breath. “Saving you took the last of my power. I don’t have the strength to even try. You’re the one holding my hand up right now. Not me. “

“No,” Dean muttered, panic blindsiding him. “No—“ He pressed Cas’ hand tighter to his sternum, moving his own hand to press over top of it to force the limp, motionless fingers flat to his chest . 

“Damnit, touch my soul.“ He sobbed again, as if the empty words could change what was rapidly happening to the angel he held in his arms.

“Dean,” Castiel breathed.

“What is it?“ He muttered, tears sliding by his nose, his expression twisted with grief and desperation as he gazed down at Cas. 

“I love you.“ His words were breathy, barely a whisper, as his eyes fell shut.

“Cas!” The ragged scream rang hollow in the still air. 

 

“Cas…” Dean shuddered, clutching the angel’s body to his chest.


	3. You're In Ruins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam hears alarming news from Dean. Over the following days it becomes apparent just how bad things are, and he fears Dean will snap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is again from Green Day's 21 Guns.

Sam’s phone vibrated on the desk beside the pile of books and his laptop. He looked up, checking the caller ID. 

Dean. He picked up, clearing his throat as he spoke.

“Hey, Dean I was just reading some more about curses, and—“ 

“Sam?” He shut up when he heard the tense, urgent way his brother spoke. That sound, he knew, was the sound of trouble.

“Yeah, what’s up?” Sam struggled to keep his tone light, bracing for what was coming. 

“It’s Cas…” Dean said, his words dying as the sentence failed to form, creating a blank of information that left Sam’s mind reeling.

“What happened?” 

“He’s dead.” 

“Oh, god, Dean… Are—are you ok?”

“What do you think, Sammy?” Was the shuddering reply.

“I’m sorry. Just...don’t…don’t do anything, OK? Just get in the car and drive back this way. I—I can meet you, halfway, actually. Where are you?” Sam shoved the books away from the front of his computer as he opened a search engine, 

 

“I’m outside Eureka Springs.”

“OK. I’m leaving now. Let’s meet at that truck stop the south side of Wichita, OK?”

“OK.” 

“And Dean?” He said suddenly as he stood from his seat.

“What?” Dean’s reply was flat.

“ Please be there.” 

“I’ll be there, Sammy.” Dean’s voice shook as he spoke, what sounded like choking back tears. 

…………

 

When Sam arrived in the parking lot of the truck stop, he at first thought Dean hadn’t come. He circled twice, looking for the familiar headlights and outline of the Impala. 

On his second pass of the parking lot, he found it parked in the shadow of a large semi. He pulled up beside it, panic rising as he scrambled out of his car to see where Dean was, as the lights were off and the car was dark and silent. 

He fumbled the flashlight in his hand, shining it into the car. To his relief, he saw Dean leaning over the steering wheel, a blank look of misery plastered on his face. He blinked slowly in the beam of the flashlight, Sam motioning for him to open the door, which he did. 

“Thank god you’re here,” Sam murmured, moving to hug him. 

Dean remained where he sat at the wheel, impassive and stony even after Sam relinquished him, waiting for him to say something, to move. 

“Dean?” He asked quietly. “Can you move over? We need to get going.” 

Dean didn't respond but for a grunt and a shake of his head.  
“Dean? I’m sorry, I’m just worried, OK? That’s all. I’m not trying to—“ Sam tried again, leaning on the side of the car, his gut catching as he realized just how bad it was. 

“Shut up, and get in!” Dean growled suddenly, starting the car abruptly so that the noise of the engine made a reply impossible. Sam nodded, swallowing his protests as he rounded the front of he Impala to get in the passenger’s seat. 

Dean pressed the gas, taking them quickly from the parking lot and Sam’s abandoned car, back out onto the main road where they filtered off into freeway traffic. 

 

For several minutes, there was no sound but the engine. The heavy silence crushed Sam’s meager remaining hopes like a bug. 

As they passed under streetlights, Sam looked into the back seat, expecting to see Castiel’s body. But it was empty. 

Several miles later, he’d finally worked up the nerve to ask. 

“Where, uh, where’s—“

“He’s in the trunk, OK?!” Dean sneered, his grip growing white-knuckled on the steering wheel. 

“Oh.” Sam replied, taking the harsh tone like a kick to the gut. Why had he asked, he wondered. Sure, it was important to dispose of a body properly, but what had he been thinking? “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that, I just—“

 

“I know what you meant,” Dean said softly after a few minutes had passed. “He…he was in the passenger’s seat ‘til people started asking what happened when I had to stop for gas, and… God, he’s in the trunk. Where we put the vamps and shifters and shit…” 

“You did the best you could,” Sam tried to ease the burden he knew his brother had saddled himself with. “You’re taking us home. We’ll go from there, OK?” 

Silence. 

Sam groaned, leaning back in his seat, his stomach lurching, although not from Dean’s driving, which was something he’d gotten used to long ago. 

“Do you want me to drive some?” He asked again, but his offer was met with a scoff. 

“I’m better off driving, Sammy.” Dean muttered. 

 

“Really, you feel well enough to? You’re sure you’re okay? Because....” Sam trailed off, leaving what was better unsaid out.

Dean made a small, broken noise at the question, one that was all but swallowed up by the sounds of the engine, but Dean could tell Sam caught it from the way his concerned gaze momentarily shifted into one of abject, empathetic pain. 

“You don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to,” he reassured quietly.

Dean shook his head, sucking in a deep breath before he spoke. 

“There…were demons. We fought them off, but they got me in the side. And…they got Cas too, but….he couldn’t heal us both.” 

Sam nodded silently, searching for what to say. What could he say, though? What could help this? 

 

“We’re going to get through this,” Sam spoke up slowly after innumerable minutes of quiet had passed. “Both of us.”

Dean didn’t reply, too busy staring out the windshield as the dark landscape slid by. 

 

“I mean that,” Sam exhorted, watching Dean with fear growing in his heart as the silence settled around them again. 

 

“If you say so,” Dean muttered finally, not because he remotely believed it, but just so Sam would be quiet. The words that came out were empty as the hollow that had formed inside him. He gritted his teeth, trying to lose himself in the roar of the engine and the shifting of gears because he didn’t think he could bear that bitter rage and overwhelming grief ripping through him again. Not again. Not when there wasn’t anything left in its wake from the last time. 

 

...  
It was the evening of the next day. They were in the bunker, and had been for hours since arriving early in the morning, but Dean hadn't slept, hadn't changed clothes, hadn't eaten. He was sitting at the table, staring at the empty bottles in front of him when Sam came to sit beside him.  
"Dean? I know this is hard for you, I can barely say this, but we need to talk about—" Sam spoke quietly, his voice wavering as he apparently struggled to maintain an even tone.  
"No." Dean cut him off, anger growing inside him at the look Sam gave him, which was something between pity and a resigned frustration. "No, Sammy! I am not burning him." He snapped, the pain escaping as rage.  
"OK. What do you want to do? We, we just have to do something." Dean looked up to see Sam's tear-streaked face.  
"I'm gonna bury him," Dean replied after a moment, his voice empty of all but a now-familiar hollowness.  
"You know as much as I do, that's not a good idea," Sam said gently. "Doesn't Cas deserve—"  
"You're right. He sure as hell doesn't deserve this." Dean got up, stalking out the door to the kitchen to his bedroom, the door slamming shut behind him. He sat in the chair beside the bed, staring at the lifeless face of the angel laid out there before he dropped his face into his hands, the grief he'd been running from finally overwhelming him.


	4. Nowhere Else to Turn

Dean breathed heavily as Sam helped him lower the pine box into the pit they’d dug. Both were pouring sweat and had shucked off their jackets despite the cold early spring temperatures. Dean’s hands were nearly numb, from both cold and exertion, as he pressed the palm of his hand to the rough boards of the coffin’s lid. 

He stared dumbly at it, tears sliding down his face as he ran his hands over the wood. Everything inside him was screaming with a pain he’d been trying to ignore. And here it was, raging through him, its impact so harsh it seemed he could barely stand.  
“I’m so sorry, Dean,” Sam said again, for what had to be the millionth time in the past three days. 

Dean didn’t respond; he’d barely even heard him. Between the exertion of digging hundreds of pounds of soil, the weight of the coffin and the incredible weight in his heart, he was wondering why he wasn’t in a pine box by now too. 

 

……………..

 

“Right now it would be easier if I was with you, Cas,” Dean muttered, not thinking, or caring about much else as he continued to put together the weapon he had broken down on the table in front of him. He was in the war room, cleaning the gun in an altogether unsuccessful attempt to occupy his mind and hands. 

Dean groaned inwardly as a door creaked open, Sam stepping inside.

Sam put his hand on the gun, pulling it across the table, away from his brother. “Dean? Are you…are you OK?”

“I don't know, Sammy,” he murmured, shaking his head, whispering again, “I don’t know.”

 

“I—I heard you just then. You’re not thinking of that, are you? Because—“

“No. God, you think I’m stupid enough to try that? Especially with the Mark still hanging around here?” Dean snapped, his brother’s pity rubbing him all the wrong ways, although, he knew it was exactly what he’d been thinking. If he could…really die, Dean thought, but cut himself off. He knew death never quite worked out. Snarling at the idea of even that option being taken from him, he angrily pulled his shirtsleeve down to cover the now-dormant Mark. “It took enough out of you, out of Cas and me, to get me back from being a demon, and to get this thing quiet again. So if that’s what you’re worried about, me offing myself, and risking going demon again, you can relax. “ 

“You’re my brother! I didn’t mean to imply—“ Sam began.

“Oh, no, you knew exactly what you were implying,” Dean scoffed, giving Sam a scathing look. “Now if you’re done freaking out, I’d like to get that put back together. It was nasty. When’s the last time we cleaned the guns in the storage room, huh?” 

“Last week,” Sam shook his head, pulling the weapon closer to himself. “It wasn’t dirty. And I can finish putting it back together.”

“What are you trying to do, drive me crazy?!” Dean snapped. 

“No,” Sam replied, sighing heavily.

“Well then, tell me, what can I do around here? Huh? Without you coming in watching me with that look like I’m some sort of damn charity case?!“

“You’re not a charity case. You’re my brother and, frankly, I’m worried,” Sam looked dazed as he said this, as if the words hadn’t come out easily.

“About what?” Dean’s voice was flat now, empty of the bite of sarcasm, which left it frighteningly hollow. 

“You.” Sam sat down at the chair beside him now, his forehead wrinkling as his expression morphed into one of deep concern.

“That’s nice,” Dean muttered, pushing back his seat to move to get up.

“Dean, please. Wait.” Sam spoke up, his voice low. He sighed a little when his brother actually stopped and waited, sitting back in his chair. He was surprised, supposing it was the fatigue and listlessness Dean seemed to have now, that made him willing to entertain doing even the slightest thing Sam asked. “You can’t keep doing this. Even if you won’t admit it, I will, because I can’t watch you do this—the past few days, you’ve barely eaten, barely slept, barely spoken. All the alcohol? And just now, the way you were looking at this gun? What you said? I—I can’t help unless you let me. So please, let me.” 

 

“Fine,” Dean groaned, staring staunchly at the wall as tears began to slide down his face again. He willed them to stop, but it wasn’t happening. He continued, his voice rasping as he felt his throat close around the words. “What do you want me to say?”

 

“Whatever’s the truth,” Sam’s sympathetic tone should have been reassuring, but somehow it only made Dean feel more certain of just how bad things were. 

“You want to know the truth? The one person out there besides you who means anything to me is dead now. And the worst part is, it should be me that was buried, not him.” 

“Dean—“ Sam’s voice was raw now as he blurted his brother’s name, but broke off when Dean continued haltingly.

“I might as well have killed him myself as those demons. I let him waste his power on me. I’m the reason Cas is dead.” 

“You’re not a waste, Dean. Don’t you think he knew what he was doing?” 

“I don’t know, and I don't care.” 

“But—if he was willing to die to save you, doesn’t that mean anything?” 

“What?!” Dean snapped. “Besides the fact he’s gone, and it’s because of me?”

“No, Dean, it’s not. He chose to save you.”

“Yeah, sure. He’s an angel, Sammy. From the start, I was his mission. Even besides that, he’s felt like he’s had to protect me—“

“But he has free will. You know that. You’re here because Cas wanted you to live.” 

“Maybe…maybe so,” Dean replied slowly as he grudgingly acknowledged the validity of Sam’s logic, which brought him to a horrifying new conclusion. He shuddered now as Castiel’s last words replayed in his mind. ‘I love you.’ He wanted to scream, is that supposed to make it any easier? That he chose to die for me out of love, to leave me like this? Instead, he tried to control his breathing, which was edging dangerously close to sobbing now, before he continued. “But how the hell am I supposed to live with that?”

“I don't know about that, but I do know he’d want you to keep living, Dean,” Sam said. “And so do I.” 

 

“Fine,” he muttered, getting up from his seat and turning away to walk out the door.

Dean went into his room, throwing an overnight bag together quickly before remerging. 

“What? Where are you going?” Sam called, trailing behind him as he followed Dean across the bunker. 

“To fix things.” Dean replied as he crossed the bunker’s antechamber, slipping out the door into the indigo shadows of evening. 

Dean climbed the Impala, the engine roaring to life, drowning out Sam’s yells as he ran through the door. But he was too slow—Sam was running towards the bumper as Dean pulled out, turning a deaf ear to Sam’s desperate pleas for an explanation. 

 

…………………

Dean stood back, giving Crowley a menacing look. Crowley returned the look with a scathing glare from where Dean had chained him with binding handcuffs to a chair in the center of a devil’s trap.

They were in an abandoned warehouse where Dean had summoned and trapped him.

“Let’s cut to the chase, shall we? Your accountant-wearing friend recently bit the dust. Now judging by the look on your face, the rumors were true. Before you ask, those agitators were rebels, trying to earn favor with a faction in Heaven by killing the feathered freak. I never told anyone to attack him. In fact, a few that were in on the plot are currently slow-cooking in holy oil for their many additional many crimes against Hell, trying to subvert my power. But all that aside, you’re looking for a way to bring him back, aren’t you?” 

“You’d better—“

“I’d better what? Really? In case you haven’t noticed, you’re in no position to bargain here. You obviously have nowhere else to turn, otherwise you wouldn't be speaking to me. I mean, sure, throw in a soul I’ll call it even, but, really, this? This is downright laughable, even for you Hardy Boys. Speaking of, where’s the Moose?”

“Sam’s not part of this. You’re talking to me right now, you sleazy son of a bitch, so you better listen up.” 

“Oh. This is too rich. Moose doesn’t even know you’re here, does he? ” Crowley asked, watching as Dean’s scowl grew deeper. 

“Which means this is personal.”

“Out of all the crap your black-eyed freaks have done, why would this time be personal, huh?” Dean pressed the blade he held into Crowley’s shoulder, which earned a scoff. He glanced at the King of Hell’s face, where he saw a satisfied grin. 

Losing his patience, he yanked it out and plunged it deep enough that he hit bone this time.

“Oh come on, give it up. You’re not really going to kill me. You can’t. You need me. I’m the one resource who knows more about this than you do that will actually talk to you. So put your ever-so-amusing toys away. If you want to talk business, we’ll do it like adults.” 

“Fine.” Dean pulled the blade out slowly, wiggling it around in the wound for maximal pain, but all he got was a smirk out of Crowley. 

“How many times have I told you, Squirrel? This is fun for me. But if you’re serious you should get to talking. As delightful as your little tricks are, I have places to be, besides your dungeon. And you should know, Castiel’s death is not of my doing. A certain renegade demon faction has come up recently which has been disturbingly eager to ally itself with rogues from heaven. ” 

“So besides spouting all that crap, can you help me any?” 

“Help? Why would I help you?”

“You know I could kill you anytime I want to, right? So enough with the sarcasm and get to talking, yknow, if you want a mouth to be able to talk out of.” 

“Oh, boo hoo, I’ve been threatened by a Winchester,” Crowley remarked, rolling his eyes. “You treat this like business and then we’ll talk. Put your toys away, Squirrel.” 

“I’m doing what you’re asking,” Dean said, his tone dangerous. “But you know I can kill you just as easily—“

“Yes, yes, this is where you threaten to kill me again, it’s ever so repetitive,” Crowley yawned. “Now, the more important question is what will you do for the information you want.” 

 

“How about right now information is what gets you out of here alive, huh?” Dean said darkly.

 

“Have it your way, then,” Crowley glowered. “But as it happens, I might know someone….” 

 

“Really?” Dean asked, giving him a withering look. 

“Yes, quite possibly, although you know him too, the self-aggrandizing dick he his,” Crowley muttered. “I don’t believe you’re too happy with him at the moment, either.” 

“Who?” He demanded. 

What Crowley said next made him want to stab him through a few times after torture for good measure. 

“You’re freaking kidding me.” 

“No, not at all. Now if you’re going to hold up your side of the bargain, which I as King of Hell most certainly have, I’d best be going. I mean, supposing hunters hold themselves to higher standards than us demons. But if you’re really better than us, you’ll let me out.” Crowley exhorted, a smug smile on his face. 

“Fine,” Dean growled, breaking the trap with a scuff of his toe, then unlocked the binding cuffs. “Get the hell out of here. But next time I see you, if I see you again, I will kill you.” 

“Touché,” Crowley remarked, standing from the chair he’d been bound to before disappearing.


	5. Pulled from the Waters

“You son of a bitch. You better not have been lying…” Dean stood, fists clenched, as he gazed over the edge of the bank, overlooking the ravine, waiting for something, although he wasn’t sure what, to happen. 

A flash appeared in the ravine below, the water crackling with an eerie blue light. Staring down at it, he noticed a shadowy shape appear, silhouetted in the ethereal blue light. It at first appeared small, in the shape of a person, but was growing. By now, anxiety getting the better of him, he was running down the hillside, picking his way, rocks slinging underfoot as he ran. 

“Oh my god,” he breathed, seeing the figure solidify, the shadows of wings appearing on either side its body. “Cas!” Dean shouted, breaking into a full sprint, ripping past the bushes and willow trees that were between him and the pool.

When he reached its edge, he splashed in, making his way towards the center, where what was now apparently an angel’s was body afloat. He was waist deep when he got close enough to reach the angel’s wing, which was fully formed, with feathers. He touched the appendage, feeling a reassuring warmth beneath the icy wet feathers. Body heat. Cas was really alive…. With the realization burgeoning him, he lunged closer to Castiel’s core now, crouching so that he could get his arms beneath him to lift him from the water. 

He grabbed the angel, heaving him out of the cold water. He hooked one arm beneath the angel, dragging him back to shore, his fully materialized wings trailing in the water. 

Dean collapsed on the muddy bank in the cattails that grew there, shivering from the cold water, the unconscious angel sprawled across his lap.

“Come on, Cas, come on,” he breathed, staring down into his face, which was unusually pale. 

“You’re alive, now act like it, damnit.“ he shook Cas’ shoulder, but go no response. 

“No, you don’t get to do this again,” he muttered, smacking the angel’s chest. “Wake up!”

The blow seemed to set something in motion, as it triggered a wet, gasping cough. 

“Oh my god, it worked,” Dean breathed, rolling Cas onto his side quickly, as the angel began to cough out water between gasps for breath. 

 

After a few long minutes of coughing and gasping, he opened his eyes, looking around in a bewildered way. 

“Dean?” Castiel’s voice was so hoarse it was nearly inaudible, even from where he leaned on Dean’s lap, still unable to sit up. 

“I’m here,” Dean replied, wrapping his arms tightly around him as they both shivered. “I’m right here.”

 

He held Castiel like this for what seemed ages before common sense got the better of him; they’d surely freeze to death if they stayed here as the sun was now setting. 

 

“Can you sit up?” Dean asked. “I mean, I get it if you can’t, I’ll help, but--“

“I’ll try,” he responded, shakily engaging his core muscles to attempt to raise himself from where his head lolled on Dean’s knees. Dean supported him as he did so, maneuvering so that Cas instead leaned against his shoulder now. 

“Look, I’m sorry to rush this, but it’s getting dark, and well, I’m not sure we want to deal with that right now. We have to get out of here. Next issue is can you walk. And…your wings. Can you…turn them off so you fit in the car?” 

 

“You mean—yes,” Castiel replied, realization written in his face in the dying light of the sunset. His large feathered wings slowly faded from existence as he willed them away, leaving him looking particularly vulnerable. 

“Dean, how’d I get here?” Cas asked quietly as he sat against the human, who still had his arms around him, as much now for warmth as out of emotion.

“Doesn’t matter,” Dean hushed him, “Except you’re here.” 

Castiel nodded tiredly. 

“Look, I'm gonna stand up first and then I’m gonna help you up, OK? We’ve got a bit of a trek before we get to the motel tonight.” Dean asserted. 

When Dean stood, Cas wavered where he sat, struggling to stay upright. 

“OK, your turn,” Dean said, offering both hands to pull Cas up. The angel tried, but all he managed was to lean forwards against Dean’s knees, shaking. 

“I’ve got this,” Dean said quietly, grabbing Cas beneath the arms as he pulled him upright. “You just try to keep your feet under you, OK?” Cas nodded, struggling to put one foot in front of the other as Dean guided him up the hill, his arms bearing the majority of the angel’s weight. 

They progressed slowly, until about halfway up, Cas lost his footing, pulling both of them down to the rough gravel. 

“You OK?” Dean asked hurriedly.

“Yeah,” Was Cas’ hoarse reply. 

 

“Let’s try this again,” Dean said as he stood again, shaking gravel and dust from his clothes as he did so. He crouched, pulling Castiel into a sitting position again. 

“Can you try to stand up?” He asked. 

Cas nodded, groaning as Dean lifted him towards his feet. When he tried to put weight on them, he collapsed against Dean again. But this time Dean was ready—he kept them both upright, clinging to Cas to keep him from falling again.

“Are you sure you’re OK?” Dean pressed, his voice edging towards irritable. 

“I’m…fine….” Cas groaned, although he sounded altogether pathetic.

“Yeah, sure, and I’m a billionaire,” Dean cracked, though not out of derision. At the moment, he felt like all there was between him and losing his mind was the half-hearted sarcasm. “Just let me get you to the car. You’re too weak to walk.” 

Dean lifted Cas into his arms, struggling up the hill as they made their way back to the car. Each step was laborious, the weight of the angel threatening to throw him off balance, but Dean didn’t care anymore.

His arms and back ached by the time he got to the Impala, which he was suddenly uncharacteristically glad he’d forgotten to lock. 

He fumbled the passenger’s side door open with a couple fingers before he placed Cas on the seat, panting. As he caught his breath, he looked at Cas, expecting some sort of comment, but he realized the angel had passed out again, his head lolling to the side. 

Dean felt relief as he heard a raspy cough. It was all he needed to hear before the reality caught up with him and he was shivering violently from the wet, the cold, and adrenaline. He went around to the driver’s seat and climbed in.


	6. A Meager sort of Fine

Castiel woke up a few minutes into the ride, watching Dean drive for several minutes before he spoke. “Dean? I was dead, wasn’t I?” 

‘Yeah,” Dean replied. “But you’re back.” 

“How long?”

“A couple weeks.” 

“Oh….” Castiel paused for a moment before speaking again. “How’d—“

“Not now, Cas. You need to rest, alright? You almost drowned, and that was coming back. You just…worry about staying warm, OK?” Dean had turned the heater up as high as it would go as they rode, both of them still shivering as the damp night air and the cold from their soaked clothing seeped into their bones. 

 

The rest of the ride passed in silence. Perhaps a quarter of an hour elapsed until they pulled into the parking lot of a motel at the edge of the town they’d come to.

“So, I’m gonna go and check us in,” Dean said. 

“I’d like to go in too,” Cas replied. 

“Are you sure? You can wait here, you know, until you feel up to it,” Dean said, gazing at Cas with concern. 

“I might as well go ahead in,” Cas murmured weakly. “I feel…a little more steady.”

“OK then,” Dean replied, opening the door as he turned off the car. 

They made their way into the lobby, Castiel leaning heavily on Dean’s shoulder as they walked. 

The clerk at the counter stared as they approached, her expression twisting with concern. “Oh my, you’re soaking! You poor dears. And—is he ok? Can we call someone—“ She began, seeing the obviously distressed angel, but was cut off by Dean.

“No. Just a room. We’re fine,” Dean insisted, dispelling her concern with a sharp word.

 

“If—if you’re sure, sir—“

“Yeah I'm sure. Now, hurry up, he’s freezing!“ 

“I’m sorry sir, just a moment, I have to get you checked in—“ 

 

“It’s alright,” Castiel shook his head, his voice low as he left Dean’s side to struggle over to a chair in the waiting area, where he collapsed. An older woman who sat in the seat across from him paused in her knitting to stare. “Well, whatever happened to you?” 

“I, uh, fell in the river,” Castiel replied awkwardly, shrugging. 

“Now don’t you know the water’s far too cold this time of year to go swimming,” she shook her head, laughing in a teasing way. 

“Yes, I suppose it is,” Cas sighed. 

“You suppose, dear? ” 

“Heck, yeah, it was cold,” Dean rejoined as he approached. “Come on. I have the room keys, finally. Let’s go get you warmed up.” 

He gave Cas a hand up, which he took, groaning as he hauled himself upright. 

They made their way to the room, Castiel leaning more heavily still on Dean as he struggled to stay upright. Dean seemed to sense this, bracing him with a hand under his arms without even having to be asked.

 

Dean opened the door quickly, helping Cas to the couch, where he sprawled, shivering. Dean went to the thermostat, turning the heat to max before coming back to where Cas lay. 

“I’m guessing you don’t have enough grace left to heal yourself right now, so this is gonna be the human way, alright? You’ve got to get out of those wet clothes, or you’re gonna get sick.” 

Castiel barely nodded, trying to move to reposition himself where he was nearly sliding from his seat, but failed, his exhausted limbs shaking from cold and fatigue. 

“Hey, it’s OK. I’ll help,” Dean assured him, moving quickly to the bed where extra blankets were folded at the foot. He put them on the couch beside Cas as he came back. 

“OK,” Castiel murmured, nodding again as he let Dean help him sit up, unbuttoning his shirt, which was so tattered and heavy with water it seemed ready to disintegrate as it came off his body. The typically powerful muscles of the angel’s chest and arms were trembling. Something inside Dean died a little more, seeing that pain and exhaustion where there should be strength and confidence. 

He wrapped one blanket around Castiel’s upper body before removing his shoes and working the soaked trousers and underclothing off his legs. He gave him the other blanket now, nodding. “Better?”

“It’s not as cold,” Castiel said tiredly. “But, what about you?”

“Me?” Dean replied, shrugging. “I’ve got dry clothes in the car. If you’re OK for a minute I’ll go get them. And I guess you can wear some too, since I don’t have anything of yours.” 

“Go ahead,” Cas murmured, “You need to take care of yourself.” 

“Me? I’ll be fine. But, God, it’s good to have you back,” Dean said as he made his way out the door. 

The woman and the clerk in the lobby watched curiously as he crossed the walkway out to the parking area. 

“Are you sure everything’s alright, sir?” The clerk called as he made his way to the door.

“Yes! We’re fine!” Dean snapped , suppressed worry making the words come out sharply enough that he saw the clerk wince. 

‘Fine.’ What sort of ‘fine’ was this? He wondered as he stepped out the door. Cas was alive, but barely. Alive. He stopped himself, trying to keep that word in his mind. As long as that was true, he insisted to the doubt that crept up through his thoughts, he would find a way to fix the rest. 

The bitter nighttime wind bit past his wet clothing, making him shiver outwardly, but he barely registered the cold. 

He opened the trunk, pulling out his bag, then paused, grabbing Castiel’s trench coat, which had remained folded in the back corner. His fingers strayed to the large rusty-looking stain he’d tried to scrub out of the fabric, but which hadn’t entirely lifted. He wasn’t even sure why he’d kept it, why he hadn’t buried Cas in it. But that didn’t matter now, he reminded himself. Cas was back. He stuck it in the pocket to his bag then turned to go back to the room. 

 

………

 

He went back inside to find Castiel slumped over, asleep. He was nearly falling off the couch, his feet dangling from beneath the blankets that had come unwrapped. Dean quietly put down his bag before moving to the couch where he repositioned Cas so he wasn’t falling from where he lay. Even positioned better, it still looked a bit uncomfortable, Dean thought, with the way he was lying against the arm of the couch. So he grabbed a pillow from the bed, easing it behind Cas’ head. 

As he did so, the angel’s eyes opened, a small smile forming on his lips.

“Thanks,” he whispered. 

“Hey, it’s, uh, it’s not a problem,” Dean returned, stooping to kiss him lightly on the forehead. 

“By the way, I have the clothes inside now. Do you want to—“

The angel shook his head, his eyes drifting shut again. 

“OK,” Dean replied. “Just let me know if you change your mind.”

 

Once he had changed, Dean checked on Cas again, who was apparently asleep. 

Noticing his own hunger for the first time past the urgency that had chased all else from his mind, he went out to the vending machine in the hall to get something to assuage it. The thought of getting something more substantial didn’t even pass his mind. The motel was too cheap a place to offer food beyond a meager breakfast, and he wasn’t about to leave Cas alone in the motel to get something else. 

Back in the room, he sat on the bed by lamplight, eating the vending machine fodder: chips and candy bar as quietly as he could. Barely tasting it, he wished more than anything that Cas was sitting right beside him. He eyed where Cas lay sleeping on the couch, but the thought just made the reality of the situation more apparent. He didn’t even have the energy to get dressed, let alone sit with Dean. As much as it pained him to admit to himself how poorly Cas was, he knew it was true. However the spell had done it, exactly, coming back had taken much more out of him this time. 

Dean sighed, turning off the light, assuring himself with the simple fact that Cas was at least alive. Anything else, we can deal with, he thought. He drifted off trying to hold onto that.


	7. What He Missed Most

Dean woke up suddenly, his breathing slowing a little as he realized he was in the motel room. He swallowed hard as the adrenaline of the nightmare wore off, turning on the light to confirm that the dampness on his hands wasn’t Cas’ blood, as it had been in the hellish dream, but rather sweat. He shook a little, peering over where Cas lay on the couch, still out of it. He felt stupid for even feeling the need to reassure himself, but as ridiculous as it was, that need was there. 

 

“Hey, Cas?” He called. 

He waited a few moments. Just when it seemed the angel wasn’t going to respond, he groaned, his eyes opening slowly.

“Dean? What is it?” He replied sleepily. 

“Nothing. I just woke up. But uh, how’re ya feeling this morning?” 

 

“A little better,” Cas mumbled, moving to try to sit up a little on the couch. He leaned on his elbows to pull himself up, but Dean noticed, although his movements were shaky and effortful, he did succeed. He wound up in what, had Dean not known he couldn’t manage more, would have looked like a lazy sprawl with his legs dangling off the edge, the blankets still twined around him.

 

“Good…But, your power’s still really low, yeah?” Dean asked. 

Cas nodded. “Yes. I feel almost human.” 

“Speaking of human,” Dean murmured, “Do you want to get dressed?” 

Cas nodded. “That…might not be a bad idea.” 

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, moving to get the clothing from his bag. He placed the folded items beside Castiel on the couch. 

Cas selected the t-shirt first, opening it with shaking hands. Dean stood back, uncertain whether to move away and give him privacy, or stay in case he needed anything. He watched as Cas pulled the shirt over his head, reaching next for boxers. 

Cas looked uncertain as he held them, moving slowly to the edge of the couch. He pushed himself forwards from the back of the couch with his elbows, leaning forward as he slipped his feet into the legs. He wavered now, grabbing the arm of the couch as he tried to stand, groaning with effort. 

As much as he wanted Cas to be able to do this himself, he couldn't stand watching this incredible man, who had been so powerful, struggle through something so basic.

“Need help?” Dean offered quietly. Cas nodded, letting Dean lift him beneath the shoulders to pull him upright. Dean let him lean on the wall beside the couch where Cas struggled to maintain an upright posture as Dean dressed him. Dean pulled on the boxers, then the jeans, trying to ignore the fear that permeated him seeing the handsomely muscled legs struggle to bear Cas’ weight. Any other time, he’d have found seeing Cas naked exciting, but not like this. Not when all he could think of was how awful a state he was in. 

He pushed back the suffocating dread, asking, “You wanna sit?” He mumbled, only half-hearing the angel’s equally quiet “Yes.” 

 

He helped Cas move back to his seat, the angel’s face showing the unmistakable shadow of exhaustion after even the meager efforts he’d been able to make. 

“Thank you,” he murmured as Dean came to sit beside him now. 

“It’s nothing,” Dean shrugged, burying the gut-wrenching concern he’d felt. “You’re just not feeling up to doing things yet, and that’s OK. But your power….”

“I’m very weak,” Cas nodded. 

“Well, don’t you think we should take care of that?” 

“What? How? I’m barely alive as it is.“

“Are you strong enough to touch my soul?” Dean asked, although it sounded as much like an order as a suggestion.

 

“Yes, I suppose I could, but, that’s a big risk to ask of you.” Castiel shook his head. “And if it didn’t work….”

“You’d be completely out of juice,” Dean nodded. “I mean it just as much as I meant it last time I offered. Before….yknow. I know it’s a risk. There’s not much grace left for you, but won’t charging it up help?” 

 

“Yes,” Castiel replied somberly. “And moreover, if it went wrong, you’d explode. I know you mean well but it shouldn’t be—“ 

“But what? Do you think I don’t care?!” Dean pleaded, moving closer to Cas to hug him. Cas leaned in, relaxing in Dean’s arms for a moment. 

“No, I don’t think that at all,” the angel replied after a moment as they relinquished each other, still sitting close enough to feel each other breathe. ‘’You care too much. So much you don’t even seem to care about the consequences of whatever you’ve done—“ 

“What I’ve done? I saved you, dumbass,” Dean muttered, his tone irritable, although his expression remained gentle. 

“I know, Dean. I know. But how?” Castiel’s voice was low, and profoundly sad.

“God, Cas. It doesn’t matter. You’re back. That’s all I care about.” Dean shook his head, staring at Cas.

“No. It does matter, to me. Did you sell your soul?” His voice grew grave now.

“No.”

“Please, Dean, tell me the truth. What did you do?” Cas exhorted, frowning.

“No demons this time. Well, besides Crowley. He barely counts. He wouldn’t want this old thing anyways. But yeah, no deals, no nothing. I'm free, and so are you.” Dean assured.

Cas didn’t find the half-hearted joke or the rest of the non-explanation convincing, though. His expression grew more concerned.  
“Who was it?”

“Does it matter though? You’re here. We don’t owe anybody anything.” Dean exhorted. “And my soul’s still mine. So why don’t you shut up and do something to actually help yourself?!. “ 

 

“Are you sure?” 

 

“Yes! Can you just stop worrying for half a damn second,” Dean shook his head, scoffing. “You’re alive. Just…shut up and be happy for about it for a minute. And get on with this. You need it, you can’t deny that.”

 

“When Bobby did it, he was in extreme pain,” Cas warned. “This is a last resort-- “

 

“Cas! You just came back from the dead. We’re so far beyond last resort that it’s not even funny.”

“You’re absolutely certain?” Cas sighed, sounding like he hoped for a no.

 

“Look at me. Of course I’m sure,” Dean muttered, his expression serious. 

Cas steadied himself along the back of the couch, his tone grim. “You have to be perfectly still….” 

“It’s OK. I trust you,” Dean replied haltingly, turning so that he was directly in front of Cas, who placed a hand on his chest. “Just…make it count.” 

“I’ll be as careful as I can,” Cas said softly, focusing intensely as he struggled to channel the little of his accessible power. He lifted his hand from Dean’s chest, his eyes now glowing with the last vestiges of his power as he aimed his hand straight through Dean’s sternum. 

Dean felt a ripping pain that jarred everything in him, like Cas’ hand was glowing white-hot as it entered his body, coming to rest deep inside him. He wanted to scream, but couldn’t. With the pain, he was aware of an incredible power coursing from the hidden reservoir of his soul into Cas’ hand, which was planted deep in his chest. He could feel the power radiating off into the angel, whose eyes flared to glow a blinding golden-white. 

Dean lost himself staring into that unearthly light, which seemed to swallow everything, even the blinding pain it created. Soon reality faded to a forgiving darkness as his eyes fell shut. 

He awoke to a hand on his shoulder, gently shaking him.

“Are you OK? Everything should still be in place as far as I can tell.“

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Dean groaned, opening his eyes to realize he was still in the motel, on that same couch beside Cas, who’d quit shaking him at the sign he was awake. He tried to sit up a little but stopped, his throbbing head protesting mightily as it threatened to implode. It felt about like the hangover from the worst drinking binge of his life, to the tenth power, paired with a jackhammer to his skull, as if the pounding headache and profound exhaustion couldn’t have gotten any worse than his worst memory of them. “I mean, that hurt like shit, but I’ll live.” He grumbled before thinking better of it and adding. “But uh, more important, how do you feel?”

“I’m…much better, thanks to you,” Castiel replied. “I'm not quite my normal yet, whatever my normal is in this life cycle, but…I don’t feel quite so human anymore.” 

“Good. That’s good,” Dean managed to crack a smile despite just how intense his headache was growing. 

“I suppose it is,” Cas said. “But…you know, I should have pulled out sooner—“

 

“Don’t you dare say that,” Dean reprimanded, his hand flying to his head as the angry outburst sent an entirely new wave of pain through him.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Cas asked quickly. “I can help—“

 

“Will it hurt the power I just let you rip me open to get to?”  
Dean asked flatly.

“Not by much,” Castiel shook his head. “And even if it did, you shouldn’t suffer like this for helping me.”

“No. You need it more—“ Dean protested, although he broke off midway through, cringing, his hands gripping his temples as if to contain the disintegration of his skull. He shook where he sat on the couch.

“Please?” Cas coaxed.

“Fine…” Dean said grudgingly, his voice a mere whisper as he barely dared to breathe for fear of setting off another explosion inside his brain.

“Thank you.” Castiel pressed his hands over Dean’s own, the blinding pain diminishing to a dull but permeating ache. 

 

“I‘m sorry this has hurt you so much,” Cas murmured as he lowered his hands. “But…thank you for bringing me back. I’m glad I’m alive. And I’m glad I’m here with you. You’re what I missed the most.” 

“Yeah, I missed you too,” Dean muttered gruffly, a tired smile forming on his face. 

Castiel sighed, trying to hide the exhaustion from performing the healing. Returning the smile, he wrapped his arm around Dean’s shoulders. Dean blinked slowly, his smile growing as their lips met, if only briefly before he retired to lay his head on Cas’ shoulder. 

………dream sequence/flashback………

Dean watched as the flames wooshed up from the ring of holy oil the sentry stood inside, shouting curses in Enochian at him. But he didn’t care. The angel’s powers were moot while surrounded with holy fire. Dean moved towards the portal, his heart pounding as it activated. 

 

A swirl of silver light appeared, engulfing him. 

Everything seemed to glow for a few moments as reality solidified before him, a blank white hallway with blank doors and nothing else so far as he could see. He wasn’t sure what he was doing, but he knew someone would be coming soon. He started opening doors, and when an alarm sounded, he ran. 

He ran, and ran. The blank white hallways turned to stone, and the light poured in from where the ceiling should have been. He was running through the vaulted halls of heaven… 

“Hey! You shouldn't be here, you’re human—” A woman in a suit called as she and several others further up the hallway stopped to look, but Dean didn’t stop. He pulled out his pocket knife, making a cut on his hand as he ran, that he squeezed to milk blood from. As they approached faster now, blades drawn, Dean smeared the blood along the wall making sloppy but he hoped effective sigils. As they neared, he smashed his palm to it, closing his eyes as the blinding light tore through the hallways. When Dean opened his eyes, they were gone. They were all gone. He hurried along again still running, not sure when they’d return, or what they’d do when they got back. 

But that didn’t matter. The one horrible being that could possibly help Cas was further down these halls, and he had to get there before they got back.


	8. Uneasy Admissions

When Dean woke up again, he was first aware of the warmth and a sort of crowded but comfortable feeling. He didn’t altogether dislike it. As he opened his eyes, Dean realized he was sprawled in Cas’ arms on the couch. Cas still seemed to be asleep, his head lolling back a bit, his eyes closed. 

“Uh…hey,” Dean said as he sat up, easing Cas’ arm from around him. 

Castiel’s eyes opened too now, blinking rapidly. “Oh.”

“Yeah, I uh, I guess we fell asleep after that…soul thing,” Dean said. 

“It’s a very draining undertaking for humans,” Castiel said quickly.

“But not for angels,” Dean said. “You used a lot of that power healing me from that, didn’t you?” His tone was something between dismayed and accusatory. Cas flinched at his words.

“I did,” he nodded. “It was only right.” 

“Damn, Cas! You didn’t waste all of it on me, did you?” 

“Not all of it, no.” Castiel frowned, shaking his head. “The benefit is still there.” 

Dean scoffed, giving him a look. “Going by how you were passed out too, it was too much.” 

“It was the least I could do,” Cas denied again.

“Fine. But don’t do anything wasting your power like that again until you’re back to normal, OK?” 

“Alright,” Cas nodded. “I’ll try.” 

“Good. How about we go get something to eat, huh?” Dean suggested, stretching. 

“That sounds good.” Cas replied. 

“Can you stand up this time, y’think?” Dean asked as he got up, stopping to watch Cas, his hand hovering near Cas in case he needed help. 

 

“Yes, I can,” Cas said, waving away his hand. “I…thanks, though.” 

Dean realized his hovering, stepped back a little as Cas stood. He couldn’t help but hold his breath until he realized Cas was fine—

“See? I’m not going to collapse again. Really.” Cas held out his hands as if to demonstrate as he took a few steps forwards, pausing when he saw his coat where Dean had left it lying on top of the dresser, which was directly in front of Cas where he now stood.

“What? I didn’t say—“ Dean began to protest, although it was halfhearted, and they both knew it. 

“Actually, you did,” Castiel corrected, giving Dean a look as he picked up his coat and pulled it on over the teeshirt he already wore. “But you should know, I am capable of walking.”

“OK, OK,” Dean rolled his eyes. “You did just die two weeks ago. Cut me some slack.” 

“I will. If you back off,” Cas conceded, giving Dean’s shoulder a small shove for emphasis. 

Dean laughed as they went out the door. 

 

……………….

 

They’d gotten back from the diner a few hours before. Cas was asleep in the bed, Dean watching a ball game turned down low on the TV. 

Dean startled from the game at the sound of a knock at the door. He jumped up to answer it, grabbing his gun from where it lay in his bag as he passed by. 

He groaned at the face he saw in the peep hole, the familiar, concerned eyes looking unnaturally large through its lens. 

He undid the bolt, putting his gun away. 

 

As the door swung open, the tall figure of his brother stepped into the entryway, shuddering a little as he clamped Dean into a hug. 

“Whoah, Sammy,” he muttered. 

 

“Sorry,” Sam said, his tone some mixture of irritable and relieved as he let go of him again. “Y’know, I’m glad to see you’re in one piece, but thanks for calling me back all the times I left messages. I had to track your credit card to know you were even still alive, since you apparently turned off your phone’s GPS, and well, when you left, you didn’t exactly seem too keen on sticking around.” 

“So, you found me. What do you want me to say, Sam? I’ve been fine, I’ve been busy, actually—“ 

Sam pushed past him in the doorway towards the interior of the room, where the lights were off besides the one in the closet, providing a dim backlight. He paused when he saw the trench coat on the couch. 

“Wait…why is Cas’ coat here? What have you been—“ 

“Shhh,” Dean admonished, “Now if you’re gonna freak out, let’s do it outside, because—“

“Oh, my god, Dean!” Sam exclaimed, taking a couple steps closer to the bed where he now recognized the sleeping form of Castiel. “What—how did you—“ 

“Yep, that’s him. “ Dean muttered, rolling his eyes at his brother’s outburst.

“But, how?! God, please tell me you didn’t sell your soul.” Sam’s eyes looked ready to bug out of his head, the expression of shock slowly morphing into one of dread at what his brother might have done. Suicide by another name, perhaps? 

“Cas already grilled me on this. But no demons, don’t worry about that.” Dean said in a low voice as he moved towards the other side of the room again.

“Angels then. Who did you bargain with? What do they want?”

“Yeah, that’s the thing. I'm not entirely sure, but I get the feeling I’m in kinda deep shit now.” 

“With who?”

“Metatron.” Dean said reluctantly with a grimace.

“You didn’t--” 

 

“Yes! Can you be any louder, Sam? Cas is trying to sleep!” Dean hissed in an irritable whisper. 

“Does Cas know?”

“No,” Dean frowned. 

“But really, you made a deal with Metatron? And you haven’t told him yet?” Sam dialed back the volume, but his tone still oozed disapproval.

“What am I supposed to say, dude? By the way I got the guy who killed me and stole your grace to save your ass?” 

“But—why would he—“ 

“I really don’t freaking know. He’s in lockup. For now, I mean, he’s probly scheming how to get out—“ 

“For now? What did you promise him, huh? What did—  
Dean! Where are you going?” Sam broke off with an exasperated sigh as Dean opened the door and walked away.

“If we’re gonna have this discussion, we’re gonna do it outside,” Dean muttered in response from where he stood in the hall. “He needs the sleep, and he doesn’t need to hear this.” 

“Alright,” Sam growled as he followed Dean out into the hall. “But I expect an answer. You don’t seem to get it! I’ve been looking for you for weeks.”

“Fine. I get it you’re worried, whatever. But I didn’t promise him squat. I uh, I might have threatened him, and uh, tortured him a little, but…”

“But what?” 

“He gave in. And I, uh, didn’t really expect that.” 

“Yeah, no, that’s not the sort of thing a guy like him would do. He wants something, hell maybe he already has something—“

“Like what? What could he possibly have? I didn’t give him anything while I was up there, except a good few more injuries.” 

“Well…you owe him one, y’know. And, well, considering Metatron, that can’t be good.” 

“No, I don’t think it is either, but man, I had no choice.” 

“I just hope you didn’t start anything awful, Dean. You don’t think too clearly when it comes to Cas.”

 

“Shut up,” Dean muttered, rolling his eyes.

“Well? Are we at least going to go back in the room?” Sam asked after a moment. 

“Depends how much of a pain in the ass you are,” Dean replied. 

“And why don't you go get us some supper?” 

 

“I would except you always complain about how I forget something. Go get your own food,” Sam jibed. 

“Fine.” Dean said. “I’m gonna let Cas know where I’m going and…if you’d stay with him, that’d be great.” 

 

“OK.”


	9. A Way In

Seeing Castiel like that proved to be rather hard on Sam, who left shortly after eating. Dean had hoped that his troubles had left with him, but that quickly proved not to be the case when Castiel asked "Dean, really. How did you save me?"

Dean debated pretending not to hear as he stared at the remains of their meal on the table in front of him before he sighed and thought better of it, having caught a glance of Castiel's stony expression.

“There were no crossroads pacts. I dealt with an angel this time,” Dean sighed. Here it comes, he thought. I’m going to catch hell from both sides for saving you…

“An angel? Which angel?”

“A particularly big douchebag in this case. He’s not my favorite to say the least—I wanted to kill him every minute to be honest--but he knew how to get you back. So I held off on that. For you.” Dean managed a nervous grin. 

 

“You—you dealt with Metatron to save me?” Castiel’s stare was as imploring as his tone, if not more. 

‘Yeah. So look, you can be mad at me, fling a fit, do whatever you want. But it was worth it. Completely worth it.” 

 

“If you were going to bargain, why did you choose him? What made you think you could bring me back?”

“I don’t know, Cas. I didn’t know it, I just…there had to be a way. And I tried everybody else first. Hell, Crowley, was my first stop. Metatron was actually his suggestion—“

“Crowley suggested Metatron?”

“Yeah, anything to save his sorry ass, although he’d never admit it,” Dean scoffed. 

 

“Dean, I’m not angry you brought me back. But…earlier Sam said, you were thinking of killing yourself after I died. Is that true?” 

“I guess it is,” Dean murmured. “But, damn, man. You could have saved yourself with the last of your powers but you saved me. You died right there in my arms. I tried, Cas, but I couldn’t take it. I mean, I really tried, OK? And it didn’t work. I couldn’t let you go. I know, maybe it’s selfish, maybe it’s wrong, but it’s the truth. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t sleep. Every minute there was this…gaping hole, this rock sitting in my gut that I couldn’t get rid of.” 

“No, I know it’s hard.” Castiel sighed. “But you are too important, Dean. Please, don’t forget that.” 

“I know, OK? I know I went off the rails. I’m not proud of that. But, you’re back.” 

“I know. But you shouldn’t pay the price for whatever Metatron did to bring me back,” Castiel replied. 

“He didn’t actually do much,” Dean admitted. “He just told me what to do with the spell. He never left lockup.” Dean felt Cas shift as he spoke. Dean sighed, resigning himself to what he felt was the natural reaction the angel would have. Of course he didn’t understand, of course he didn’t condone what he’d done… 

“He didn’t?” Castiel asked. “Then why did he help you?” 

“I don’t freaking know. And I don’t care. You’re back. That’s all that matters.”

“No, Dean, it’s not.”

“What the hell, Cas? Are you gonna be pissed at me? Because I freaking saved your ass?” 

“No. I—I’m not angry you saved me, Dean. I’m…concerned. And so is Sam.”

“Oh, of course Sam’s concerned,” Dean grumbled. “That’s all he ever is. Worried and crap. Ugh! Did he tell you about this?” 

Castiel sighed, his voice heavy. “Yes. Sam told me, some of it, and I overheard some earlier when he came in, but I wanted to hear it from you.”

 

“God, the guy never knows when to keep his freaking mouth shut!” Dean groaned. “How much did he tell you?”

“Not as much as I’d already overheard. He only said there were things you needed to tell me, and things that you had not been doing well at all after I died.” 

“Of course he did…” Dean shook his head angrily.

“Dean. You have no reason to be angry right now,” Cas said. “If anything I do. Why did you keep this from me?”

“Because! You shouldn’t have to deal with this. It’s on me—“ 

“No, Dean. It is not on you. It was something you did for me, therefore it is my burden as well. Whether you will admit it or not,” Castiel corrected. “You do not get to take the blame all on yourself. I will not allow it.”

“Cas! You—“ 

“No.” The angel stood, going to the door when there was a knock on it, shaking his head at Dean who reached for his gun. 

“It’s just Sam,” Castiel declared. 

“Fine. Why don't you let the douche in?” Dean snarked, running a hand through is hair tiredly. 

 

“Thanks for telling Cas all that crap,” Dean grumbled under his breath as Sam entered.

 

Castiel shut and locked the door behind the hunter, his expression tired as he sighed and took a seat on the couch. 

He didn’t look forward to what was bound to be an unpleasant scene. 

“Oh, so you came clean,” Sam said with an awkward ‘please-don’t-punch-me-in-the-face smile’. “And for the record, I didn’t tell him much. I told him to ask you. I mean I knew you’d get pissy over the least bit, but he has the right to know.” 

“I do not get pissy!” Dean snapped.

“Yeah, yeah you do, jerk,” Sam cajoled. “I mean do you hear yourself?” He smirked down infuriatingly at Dean, who scowled, throwing his hands up in concession as he sat down on the end of the bed. 

“Fine. Fine!” 

“So…Cas, you know now. What do you think we should do?” Sam asked as he sat down beside the angel. 

“Nothing,” Dean began, but Cas cut him off.

“Dean. What about the spell you used? Do you really not know anything about it?” 

 

“Damn, Cas! You just got back, you’re alive, isn’t that enough?” Dean grumbled.

“No. Not if you’re potentially at risk. I want to know the cost, alright? Metatron wouldn’t just do something like this out of goodness. He doesn’t have any, and there has to be a downside. We need to find out what it is.” Castiel regarded at Dean with a concerned gaze he refused to meet. 

 

“Well that’s a great idea,” Dean snarked. “Except how do you expect to get that information, huh? The only one that knows is Meta-Douche.” 

 

“We’d have to go back up,” Cas replied. 

“What?! No. You can’t be serious—“ Dean stood from where he sat, stalking off across the room to look out the window.

“Y’know, Cas is right,” Sam cut in, following Dean. “We need to know.” 

 

“Sam! You don’t get to decide, this is—“ Dean sputtered, turning away again, looking at the remains of their meal on the table by the window. 

“Decide what? That we need to know what kind of dark magic you pulled? I think I have a right to know too, Dean, because this doesn't just affect you.” Sam wasn’t letting up, and if he had any idea how annoying that was, he’d have understood how close he was to Dean punching him. 

 

“Ugh! I can’t believe you two. You’re ridiculously stubborn—“ Dean spouted as he angrily tossed wrappers from their earlier meal in the trashcan.

“What?” Sam scoffed, “Just like you?” 

Dean rolled his eyes. “OK, fine, you’ve got me. But...if you’re gonna do this, we at least have to do this the smart way.”

 

“That’s alright,” Cas said. “I have an idea. “

 

“An idea?” Dean groaned. This was not going to be good…

“Yes, I have a few friends up there still. Speaking of, how did you get in when you went up?”

“I snuck in,” Dean said. 

“Of course you did,” Cas murmured, this time it was his turn to roll his eyes. “I guess there’s one thing to do, go see if she’ll let me in.”

“She?” Dean asked.

“Hannah.” Cas explained. “Around when we were curing you, she was working with me.” 

“Oh. So uh, she’s a way in, then?” Sam asked. 

“I believe so. She is, or at least was, in a position of power within Heaven, so she represents our best chance.” 

“Why do I get the feeling you’re not letting me say no to this?” Dean asked.

“Because,” Castiel replied. “I’m not. And neither is Sam. This is something I have a right to know, and you cannot pretend otherwise, Dean. You were wrong to keep it from me, and it was unwise, as I am certain you already know.”

“This is a stupid idea, for the record,” Dean protested.

“No, it is not. It is prudent, and if Hannah is amenable to letting us back in, which I assume she will be, provided you didn’t do too much damage in your last foray into Heaven, we should be well-guarded. You have no argument against this,” Castiel shook his head as if dispelling Dean’s objections. 

“Well,” Sam said. “I agree. Whether or not you’re willing to have any part in it, we are going to figure out what you did, Dean. And if anything’s wrong, how to fix it.” 

 

"Don't do this, Cas," Dean pleaded. 

"I will, Dean. Even if you won't. How soon can we leave, Sam? I don't believe it is prudent for me to attempt flying or teleportation at present," Cas said. 

"If you're game, we can leave for the portal in the morning," Sam replied. 

"Are you coming, Dean?" 

"No--yes. God, guys. If you’re gonna go, I’m at least going up there with you. Coz you aren’t going alone, Cas. That’s for damn sure,” Dean said. 

“I don’t now if they will take kindly to your presence,” Castiel cautioned.

“Well I don’t give a damn,” Dean muttered angrily. “I am going with you. Think about it, there were angels that told the demons to attack you. You aren’t safe up there without somebody with you, and you’re still low powered right now. I need to go.” 

“Alright. So—“ Castiel began, but was cut off by the sound of Sam’s phone.

Sam fished it from his pocket, answering it. 

“Hey. Garth? Slow down…” 

Dean and Cas watched expectantly. 

“Yeah, alright, look, I’ll be over as soon as I can. I was uh, checking in on Dean. He’s got some stuff he has to look into, so it will just be me if that’s alright....Yeah, OK. Bye.” 

Sam sighed, putting his phone away.

“So, uh, Cas. I’m sorry, it looks like you and Dean will be on your own for this,” Sam sighed. “Garth has a situation with a nest in Leavenworth and needs some backup, pronto.” 

“Oh. Then what are you waiting for?” Dean asked. “Go on then. I’ll stay here with Cas.” 

“And you’ll do what Cas tells you?” 

“Yes, Sam. God. I’m not gonna destroy the world while you’re gone. Now go run off and gank them sons of bitches.” 

 

“Don’t worry, Sam. I’ll keep him in line,” Cas smiled. 

“Alright. You guys just, yknow, be careful. You have no idea how much you had me worried.” 

“No, I don’t imagine it was pleasant,” Castiel replied. 

“It wasn’t. But I’m glad you’re back, and, yknow, Dean’s OK now. More or less…” Sam said in parting as he left, eliciting a chuckle from Dean.

“Dude, Sam! Go ahead and get out of here, Garth and those vamps aren’t gonna wait forever!” Dean called as the door fell shut behind Sam.

Castiel settled tiredly back on the couch beside Dean as silence fell over the room again.

“Dean, we need to talk about what we’re going to do tomorrow,” Castiel spoke up.

“God, Cas. You’re really gonna make me do this? Isn’t there anything I can say or do to make you drop it?”

“No, Dean. And I’m only doing this because I am actually concerned, quite a bit more than you are, about the consequences of what you did to save me. I’m only doing this because I care.”

“About what, though?” Dean groaned, exasperated. He was about to add a flippant ‘What’s the big deal, I’ve done this type of bargaining shit plenty of times before,’ When Castiel interrupted his train of thought, his words rough as usual, although an increment or so more emotional than he was used to hearing from the angel. 

“About you.”


	10. Where do we go now?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas go to see what they can find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from Guns N' Roses 'Sweet Child O' Mine'.

The rest of the evening passed slowly, Dean watching sports and then news in restless silence. Castiel mostly just waited, watching the tv, and Dean, with quiet impassivity.

Around 9 o’clock, Castiel yawned, stretching out on the couch. Dean stood, to give him room, then paused.

“Why don’t you take the bed? I’d have gotten us a room with two, but they only had rooms with one bed left.” Dean apologized. “I didn’t get another room last night because you couldn’t even walk, but tonight I checked earlier, this is the last room available,” Dean added, although in truth he didn’t really mind sharing a room, because the thought of Cas alone during the night, low powered as he was, scared him a bit more than he wanted to admit. “If you’re—comfortable on your own—or—“

“No, this is fine. And…you don’t have to take the couch,” Castiel shrugged as he stood slowly, moving towards the bed. The relief that flooded Dean at this made him feel just a little guilty. Cas didn’t want a different room, and although that shouldn’t have, it eased his anxiety over the angel being alone. And he didn't want to relegate him to the couch, either… Wait, what?

“Wh—what?” Dean verbalized the thought, awkward inarticulateness and all.

“Couches are not known for being the most comfortable place to sleep,” Castiel observed as he removed his jeans, getting in the bed in his boxer shorts and teeshirt. “I’m not attempting to imply anything, but you are welcome to sleep where you wish. I truly appreciate everything you’ve done.”

“Oh, uh. If it’s…ok with you, the bed is more….comfortable...” Dean trailed off awkwardly as he changed into what he was going to sleep in.

He couldn’t help but notice Cas’ tired laugh, “Why wouldn’t it be? I asked you to.”

Dean didn’t have a reply, instead settling in to his side of the bed.

Dean watched tv turned down low for a while longer before he finally turned it off and let himself drift off.

Dean tried to stay on his side of the bed during the night, trying not to read too much, or too little into the fact Cas was sharing a bed with him. It shouldn’t have left him with so many questions, but he really couldn’t help it.

 

When he woke up in the morning, with Cas lying against him, apparently having rolled over sometime during the night, he allowed himself a few minutes to enjoy whatever it was he felt at the moment. The closeness, the fleeting sense of safety… No, that was it, he realized, softly wrapping an arm around Cas’ shoulders. Beside him, he knew he was safe. Dean could hear the quiet breathing and feel his body heat, his pulse in his chest beneath Dean’s fingers.

The thought of where Cas was going to drag them when he woke up made Dean want to bury himself and Cas in the blankets and never leave.

 

His ridiculous thoughts were shattered as he heard Castiel sigh, the muscles of his chest and shoulders tensing beneath Dean’s hand as he sat up.

 

“Hmm, it’s morning,” Castiel observed as if it were the most natural statement to make while waking up beside….well, whatever Dean was to him. Right now Dean wasn’t too sure, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Not if the answer was the one he didn’t want. And he wasn’t altogether certain why he cared…except…. Was he really that far gone?

Castiel yanked him from his thoughts as he stood, stretching. Fatigue showed in the lines beside his nose, but he smiled at Dean and that made something inside him wrench.

“So you’re really doing this?” His words hung in the air for a moment.

Castiel’s face fell. “Yes. Please, Dean. This is not some sort of punishment, we have to face whatever you did.”

“OK…OK, just…promise me, I go up with you.”

“Provided Hannah or whomever is in charge permits, I won’t have it any other way.” Castiel smiled again, and Dean just wanted to bask in that, even as the angel moved to get dressed, and Dean followed suit.

….

They got ready quickly and Dean checked them out of the motel. They went to the Impala quickly as the cold early morning wind swirled around them, making the tails of Castiel’s coat flap.

Inside, Dean couldn’t help but smile at the sight of Cas in the passenger’s seat, alive, well, and… he cut the thought off there. What was he going to think besides that?

Instead he asked Cas if grabbing some breakfast on the road was agreeable, to which the angel conceded, and they were off.

They ate at a diner an hour from the motel, stopping only as long as it took to get a small meal in, and then hit the road again.

It was mid-afternoon when they finally arrived at the park where the portal was. Dean looked at Cas one last time, a question hovering on his lips that he didn't even have to ask.

“Yes, I’m sure. Let’s go,” Castie said.

Dean could only nod his acquiescence as dread pounded along with his heart as they got out and approached the portal.

They didn’t have to wait long; as they drew near, it activated, sending silver flickers of light into the air.

A woman materialized, and Dean tensed, hand on the hilt of the angel blade he had in his jacket.

Castiel shook his head quietly, taking a step towards the woman.

 

“Who are you? Wait, no, you can’t be—“ the angel who appeared inquired, its vessel a petite woman with bifocals.

“Yes, Mariah,” Cas nodded. “It’s me, Castiel. I see you changed your vessel. The last one was from what, the Roman Empire—”

“What did you do, steal a librarian?” Dean jibed, interrupting Cas.

“Castiel then, I suppose. And who is this with you? I barely believe it myself because word was you were dead!” the angel murmured, catching her breath.

“Well he’s not,” Dean snapped. “So we need to talk to whoever’s in charge. Like, _now_ would be good.”

 

“Well yes, of course,” the angel replied, gazing apprehensively off into the distance past the two for a moment.

The vessel blinked in and out of existence for an instant and then disappeared entirely with another flash of silver light.

 

……………..

 

Hannah sat in her office, poring over the maps of Heaven. The largest of the rogue factions had recently been pushed back to the outer reaches, but it still wasn’t enough. Fluctuations in lines happened multiple times in the equivalence of an earth day, and there were still weak points in her forces. It wasn’t enough. She looked up suddenly at a knock at the door.

“Come in.”

“There are two seeking audience with you waiting at the portal. An angel who claims to be Castiel—“

 

“Castiel? “ Hannah asked sharply. “You are aware he is dead. I don’t appreciate you wasting my time, Mariah. You will be on penal duty for six earth months performing miracles for humans if you don’t recant what you’ve just said immediately—“

“No disrespect is intended,” Mariah said quickly, “There really is an angel at the portal who claims to be Castiel. And—Hannah, he looks like him—“

“You had best not be lying,” Hannah said coldly. “Send him up. Immediately!”

Mariah disappeared again before reappearing, to Hannah’s annoyance, alone.

 

“The human with him insists on accompanying him. And further, Castiel seems to be willing to cede to the man’s wishes.” Mariah announced.

“A human? Who?”

“I do not know. He didn’t say—“

“Bring them both up. Now.”

 

“Yes, yes of course,” Mariah replied, disappearing again.

 

When she reappeared at the door, she had a tired-looking trench coated angel and a slightly taller, disgruntled looking human with her.

Hannah stood up from her seat, taking in a sharp breath.

“Castiel?” She demanded, her face crumpling into a mixture of shock and disbelief that her voice reflected as well.

“Hello, Hannah,” he replied. “I assume you’ve heard, then…”

“Oh, yes, I’d heard. You were _dead_!” The hurt in her voice as she formed the word was impossible to miss, particularly in contrast to the typically businesslike speech pattern of angels. “A rogue faction of angels created a deal with one of Hell’s insurgencies to kill you. The better question is, if that is really you, how are you here?” She continued, stepping out from behind her desk to approach Castiel.

He nodded, allowing her to touch his forehead, awe crossing her face.

“But you…it’s really you,” she murmured as she drew the information she needed from the touch.

Dean frowned fiercely seeing her so close to him. Something inside him seethed at the way her hand hovered at his shoulder, and how she smiled just a little too big, and a little too long while standing so close to him...

Dean frowned harder, trying to get the thought out of his mind, wishing she’d just move away a little. Damn angels and their complete lack of understanding of personal space… Not that Castiel  seemed to mind. And somehow that made it all that much worse. He shook himself. Sure, she was weird and an angel, but Cas wanted to see Metatron, so if they were going to do this keeping him in her graces would be, well, beneficial, Dean grudgingly admitted to himself. But god. Why was she so damn _close_ to him? And why did he suddenly care so much. It wasn’t like Cas felt the same, was it? He struggled, and failed to shut down those thoughts.

“I know. Dean—“ Castiel nodded to the human who stood, tense behind him, glaring at Mariah and Hannah alternately, “Brought me back. However it came to my attention that he had some help along the way.”

“Help? Whoever did this, whatever spell was used is immensely powerful. I did not know it was possible to draw an angel back from the void. And why does that bring you here, particularly with _him_?”  Hannah said.

Castiel sighed. “Dean is accompanying me because we both need to speak to a prisoner here. Metatron is the one who told him of the spell to bring me back.”

“I assume you know then that about an earth week ago, Dean forced his way into our halls,” Hannah said coolly, returning Dean’s glare with her own icy look. “While there were no fatalities, he is certainly not welcome here. If he wasn’t with you, we’d have already dealt with him.”

“Why don’t you go ahead and deal with me then?” Dean cut in.

This earned another admonishing look from Hannah.

Castiel looked pained. Embarrassed, even, when he hissed, “Dean. You are a guest here. Do not ruin this.”

“I’d much prefer him stay on earth,” Hannah sighed.

“Well wishes aren’t horses, and I’m not going any freaking where,” Dean said , crossing his arms.

 

“Fine. Follow me. And Mariah, make sure the guards are redoubled.” Hannah replied.

“Of course.” The other angel nodded, disappearing out the doorway to do as she was told.

Hannah motioned for Castiel and Dean to follow her as she made her way out of the office and down a long blank hallway full of doors. The same hallways that Dean had run through a couple weeks before in his mad rush to save Castiel.

Dean couldn’t help but hate the fact he was here again, and couldn’t help the animosity he felt towards the female angel that lead them towards the prison cell where Castiel’s quarry waited.

 

Hannah stole suspicious glances at Dean as they walked. “I do not understand why you allowed him to come with you,” she said in a low voice to Castiel who walked beside her, low enough that Dean’s human ears wouldn’t pick it up from where he trailed a bit behind them.

 

“I didn’t realize it mattered,” Castiel replied tersely.

“It does matter. Did you not hear me earlier? He intruded into our halls and consulted with our prisoner!” She bit back.

“Hannah—“ Cas began but was cut off.

“No! Castiel, I am asking, because I don’t understand why you would associate with him!” She continued, her voice rising in tone.

Castiel stopped short as they walked. Dean stopped too, hanging back where he’d stopped, but listened in, intent but none-too-certain what Castiel was going to say.

“He saved me, Hannah. What do you want me to say? It’s a relatively simple matter. I already told you what we need here. I trust this isn’t too much to ask, and won’t cause undue burden, on your forces, or you.” Castiel said in a dispassionate tone, the solemnity of his voice and expression in further contrast to Hannah’s outburst.

Hannah stiffened at this, nodding curtly. “Well, if that’s all this is,” she sighed. “It’s a bit further. Flying is much faster, of course, but –-“

“Whoah, flying? You sure aren’t touching me,” Dean cut in, pointing at Hannah as he spoke.

"And he can't fly right now. Low power."

“I wouldn’t presume to do so,” Hannah replied, her face twitching in a brief approximation of disgust.

Seeing this just made Dean want to laugh.

“Hell no,” he agreed.

"But the point stands," he added.

"Actually," Castiel interrupted, "Being in Heaven helps replenish my powers at an exponential rate compared to how long the same takes on Earth. I have more than enough strength to fly here--"

Their conversation was interrupted by the wail of an alarm that shattered the quiet in the hallway, red lights flashing out a pattern above the doors that lined the hall.

“Oh. “ Hannah said quietly, as much a groan as a word. “We need to hurry. That’s code five…”

“Code five?” Dean asked. Castiel shook his head slightly, looking at Hannah.

“Yes. Things have changed since you were last here. It means there’s been a breach in the defenses. The faction that killed you, and others have joined forces and have been attempting to push back into our holdings.” She explained hurriedly.

“Now we’d best fly to get away quickly—“ she motioned for Castiel to follow her.

He turned to Dean, who shrugged, frowning “If we have to. Beam me up, Scotty.”

Castiel touched Dean’s forehead, and the next moment the halls they stood in weren’t blank but made of stone.

“Why didn’t we just go all the way there?” Dean asked irritably. “I mean if you’re gonna bother—“

“There are safeguards in place which prevent flight within certain areas of Heaven. The prison is one of those.” Hannah explained.

“Fine,” Dean grumbled, trailing behind the two of them as they walked on.

Finally they reached a heavy iron reinforced door, where there stood a sentry. He nodded respectfully to Hannah when she instructed to unlock the door.

It creaked open, revealing the chamber within, thicker stone walls housing small cells.  
And in the second one sat Metatron.

Dean’s head pounded as he advanced towards where the angel sat.

 

“Hey, Metadouche,” Dean jabbed.

“Oh, hello to you too,” Metatron said smugly. “I didn’t expect you back quite yet.”

“Oh, or you,” he continued as Castiel appeared before the bars of his cell beside Dean.

“Or me? Did you not provide Dean the spell to resurrect me?” Castiel asked.

“Oh, well, yes, I did. I just didn’t suppose it would work quite so smoothly for a pea-brained human,” Metatron grinned. “Or that he’d be quite so stupid.”

“Stupid? You son of a bitch! I’ll tell you who’s stupid—“ Dean sputtered.

Hannah gave him a hard look, which he returned with an exasperated sigh.

“Castiel and I will do the talking,” Hannah admonished.

Dean didn’t reply but glared back at her.

“Hannah. Your presence is requested in the corridor,” the sentry called from the doorway.

“Very well,” Hannah replied. “Castiel, I trust you will manage this appropriately?”

Castiel nodded as she walked away out into the hall, the heavy door slamming shut behind her.

“What was the spell you provided?” Castiel asked. “What did it do?”

“Why would I tell _you_?” Metatron shrugged, grinning.

Castiel sighed, frowning. “Because I could put in a word with Hannah. You have nothing to lose here, you might recognize.”

“Hmm, let's see," Metatron mocked being deep in thought for a moment, "No I think I’ll pass."

“Were there any unseemly effects? Any ‘catches’?” Cas demanded. “Because if you put any in, if you did _anything_ to Dean—“

“Oh, no. Your little human already did plenty, although you didn’t know it. Until now,” Metatron taunted, a disquieting smile forming on his face.

“Know what?” Cas’ voice was cold.

“Oh, but you don’t know either, Darling Castiel. You special little bird, you—you don’t know about the bond.”

“What bond?” Dean pressed.

“When an angel disobeys orders for a human,” Metatron said, his growing delight at each word making Dean’s blood boil, “It changes the physiology of an angel. And the longer that angel spends on earth, well, the worse it becomes. Angels don’t love, Castiel. They obey. They kill, they smite on orders. But you…you’ve disobeyed for so long, you’re barely an angel anymore. And now that you’ve died for this pathetic human—well. This human came to me, _begging_ me, for information on how to save you. If you can call it that, of course. I tried to get him to let me out, but he’s just too self-righteous to do that, aren’t you, you stupid little ant? But that didn’t mean I couldn’t tell him how to bring you back.” Metatron smirked now.  "And watch all the fun."

“What do you get out of this?” Castiel demanded.

“Don’t you see? I get to watch you fall. Yes, again! And then die in disgrace. I may not be getting out this century or the next, but that doesn’t mean I don’t get some entertainment. That’s all you are to me, you know. It’s not quite as good as a book, but really, free little bugs to torture and watch die? It’ll be a welcome diversion. Fun, even. Well, at least for me. Not for you.” He sneered as he finished, Dean was clutching the angel blade he carried, shaking bodily.

Cas grabbed his shoulder, giving him a warning look. Dean put the blade back, but shook his head, crossing his arms.

 

“How? How do we stop this?” Cas demanded.

“Really? Like I would tell you?” Metatron scoffed. “Castiel, the angel who fell, so very many times. I rather like that. Your old grace brought you back, you know. Within 40 days and with enough desperation an angel’s essence can be recalled from the void. Your little human pet was the perfect one to go for it. Nobody else would be that stupid. Recalling an angel from the void with a spell? Oh, it comes at a price, a terrible price indeed. But I’ve already said too much. Why should I tell you, really, when you finding out is half the fun?”

Dean reached out and grabbed Metatron’s shirtfront through the bars, pulling him up against them. Deliberately, he pulled the blade he carried from its sheath, holding it threateningly in front of Metatron. “Last chance,” he growled, ‘You’d damn well better—“

 

“Castiel! Control him,” Hannah shouted as she burst in again.

“No, I’ll tell you what you need to control,” Dean snapped, shoving Metatron away as Hannah’s dropped into her hand.

She gave him an icy stare.

“You need to get this piece of shit to talk. And if you won’t, we will,“ he began to protest.

“Dean. Please,” Cas’s dejected tone made him stop for a moment. He turned to Hannah, his hands outstretched in a gesture of surrender as if to placate her. “She’s right we…we were lucky to be able to get up here to start with…”

“Lucky? That was just a messenger speaking to me. The factions have gotten past our second line of defenses. They tortured for information, and they now know you’re back. They’re offering a deal if I turned you over.” Hannah said stiffly. “I’ve risked everything for you, Castiel. And now it’s time for you to go. “

 

“I know this is asking a lot, but we need this information. Is there any way—“

“No. Not now, certainly. Your time here’s up. Unless you want to face the same faction that had the demons ambush you earlier, you need to leave.”

She was ushering them down the stone hallway now, towards the point they’d been able to fly from.

“Hannah—“ Cas said again as they ran.

“What now?” She asked coldly.

“Thank you.”

“Just go. Before you create more trouble.” She turned away, her voice bitter as if she were angry.

“Let’s go, Cas,” Dean urged as Castiel wavered. “Now.”

Castiel sighed and nodded, putting his hand to Dean’s forehead. Then they were back in the blank hallways, an anxious-looking Mariah pointing the way back towards the exit.  
…….

They exited the portal, stepping out past the sandbox onto the patchy grass that lined the ground.

“What’s with her? Some sort of stick up her ass, more than usual? I thought you said she was one of the few douchebags up there that doesn’t hate you.”

“She doesn’t. Didn’t…” Cas replied as they walked back to the car from the portal. “I’ve put her in a bad place…”

 

“A bad place? Dude, didn’t you see how she was looking at you when we first came in? It was like —“

“It’s not like that…“ Castiel’s denial was feeble, and they both knew it.

Dean sputtered, laughing.

“Oh, you do know,” Dean teased, although it came out a little harsher than he’d meant it to. “She’s so hot for you she can’t stand being near you.“ Not with me there, he thought, but couldn’t say.

“Maybe,” Cas admitted uncomfortably, his speech descending into an incomprehensible stammer. “But—I don’t—“

“Don’t what? It’s….” Dean said, although as he spoke, his throat tightened, and he broke off. What had he been about to say? That it was ‘cool,’ that it was fine for Cas to love someone else? But he couldn’t say it, because it really wasn’t. He stopped speaking, watching Cas walk beside him as they reached the car. He stared for a long moment as Cas stood by the passenger’s side, the depth of the light playing across his features, making him look mysterious and powerful. He couldn’t say it, Dean realized, because he needed him.

“Aren’t you going to unlock it?” Cas’ question brought him back to reality.

“Yeah, ‘course,” Dean replied quickly, moving to do so.

They climbed in, the false levity of the banter from moments before giving way to quiet. And quiet gave too much time to think. All Dean could think of now was the looming question. What in the hell were they going to do?


	11. Tense Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things aren't much better on the way back from the portal, so Cas decides to do something about it.

They drove on from the portal in tense silence. After about an hour Dean couldn't take it anymore and started fiddling with the radio, muttering his complaints to the airways about their appallingly dull content. 

“Nothing’s freaking on,” Dean complained for the tenth time in a row.

“There are your tapes right here,” Castiel said mildly.

“Yeah, gimme one,” Dean said, waving a hand at Castiel who deposited a tape in his fingers. 

Dean sighed something with superficial contentment as he shoved it in the player and cranked up the volume to Metallica, and tried to focus on the familiar strains of guitar and steady growl of the lyrics instead of the turmoil that was growing in his gut. 

Dean drove until it was well past dark, and Castiel began staring at him in…a different way than usual. Something like concern, he realized.

“Dean. You’ve been driving for eight hours now. You must need to eat, sleep—“ 

“I’m fine.” Dean rebuffed, scrubbing a hand across his head as he spoke.

“You’re not. You’re human. You have to be tired. And I’m tired of driving.” 

“Alright. Alright, next town we see…” Dean agreed reluctantly, although he couldn’t help but derive some satisfaction from the ghost of a smile that shaded Castiel’s face for a moment. 

Thirty minutes later, they were pulled over in the parking lot of an old motel which by any accounts had seen better days. Castiel walked with Dean toward the office, where a neon vacancy sign buzzed in the window. 

“You checking in together?” the bored-looking clerk asked. 

“Yeah,” Dean grunted.

“One room then? Two singles or a queen?” 

“Uh…” Dean looked at Cas, searching for an answer. Cas nodded. ”One room, and…a queen is fine.” Castiel said, watching Dean for a moment as if anticipating an objection, but he had none to give. 

It shouldn’t have mattered, but Dean actually felt something akin to hope at his pronouncement. 

 

He reflexively tried to push it back, but then thought better of it. Just days ago he’d have given anything to have Cas back without a second thought. So was enjoying being near him really so bad? He rationalized. Even if he wasn’t sure just what it was? 

“Alright then. That’ll run you sixty-five for the night.” The clerk replied. Dean handed over some cash, and was given the key. 

Castiel walked with him back to the Impala, so close beside Dean his hand brushed Dean’s for a few steps. 

Dean glanced over at Cas but he’d moved away a bit, going towards their room, number 7, which was a few parking spots away from where they’d left the Impala. 

Dean grabbed his bag and locked the car before joining Cas a the door.

He opened it and turned on the light, proceeding in the room. 

“Damn. I’m hungry,” Dean grumbled as he put down his bag beside the bed. “What do you think about calling in some takeout?”

“Whatever suits you,” Cas said noncommittally. 

“OK. Well,” Dean continued as he shuffled through a set of menus on the bedside table, “There’s Chinese. I’m thinking lo mein. What do you want? If you’re still eating and everything…?” 

Castiel shrugged, taking a seat in one of the chairs on the opposite wall. “The same as you.” 

“OK, I’ll call it in.” 

While they waited for their food to arrive, Dean pulled out his tablet and took a seat beside Cas, and began browsing. He started out with some news, then navigated towards scholarly articles on ancient religions. Castiel, having nothing else to do, watched over his shoulder. Dean was well aware of their closeness. He could feel Cas’ breath against his ear occasionally when he leaned in to read something out of sight past Dean’s body, and heard the quiet scoff when Castiel read something over his shoulder that Dean supposed must be incorrect.  
‘Your Bible gets as much wrong as it does right,’ Dean remembered Cas saying once.

Maybe 30 minutes from the time he’d called it in, there was a knock at the door. Dean went to get the food and paid the delivery boy.  
He brought it back inside, motioning to Cas to get his share of it.  
Castiel did so, and Dean returned to where he’d been sitting, tray in hand. He ate quickly, frowning at the food.

Castiel sat in a growing silence as he ate his own portion. He watched Dean, who had finished before him, move back to his tablet.  
Time stretched on slowly as Dean continued reading, flipping restlessly between pages on this myth or that. He never settled on one long enough for Castiel to even read a quarter of what was visible on the screen. Concern that had been there for days, years, really, flared up. He’d seen Dean like this plenty of times before, but never had he been able to do anything to help, really. Already anticipating Dean’s familiar brand of self-defeating determination, a plan began to form in Castiel’s mind. 

He loved Dean, more now than ever. Death this time had been marked by a bereftness of life and most of all, his bereftness of Dean’s presence. He and wanted so badly for Dean to stop worrying himself sick, wanted to see him smile. But how would he do that? Nothing had helped his mood. Not food, and even the research he’d at first seemed calm and focused on was now a source of upset. Castiel thought about how to help. He knew Dean tended to respond strongly, and very positively to certain stimuli. Getting Dean to a state of arousal might help, and it might also show Dean that he did care, in a way that would register with him as a human. Castiel loved him, but it was a deeper, quieter, more abiding form than the lustier version most humans expressed and responded to. 

He didn’t think Dean would really be receptive to that at the moment, even if in a less tumultuous time he might understand it. No, he wanted Dean to understand, now, because as patient and long-suffering as he was, Castiel couldn’t take seeing him like this anymore. He hoped to communicate on a more basic level what he felt, or failing that, to at least get Dean’s mind off of things. He knew he could use his own body for this purpose. Castiel had never initiated such contact, but he had seen enough, and had experienced it once himself with a reaper masquerading as April Kelly. He knew enough to have an idea of how to attempt it. 

He remembered the way his body had responded even that first time, the way things had felt when he was human. As an angel again, the desire had been hidden behind the layers of power and duty he felt. Particularly since his resurrection, what overrode the rest was duty to Dean, and the heartbreaking need to help him with the burdens he saddled himself with. While he was human, he had wanted to try again, but circumstance got in the way. Perhaps tonight was the time to try it. If it worked, not only should Dean be happier, but he might understand just how deeply he mattered to Castiel.

“Dean?” Castiel’s voice was low, already expecting the short answer he received.

“What?” 

“Are you OK?”

“Damn right I’m OK,” Dean returned gruffly, putting away the tablet he’d been poring over a site about archaic angel myths on. He stood from his seat, stretching, his expression falling. Castiel knew all too well there was nothing on that website, or in all likelihood, any other web site or in any book that would be of help. 

 

“I’m sorry, Dean,” the angel began, but Dean took him by the shoulders, hushing him as he stared down into Cas’ face. 

“You’re not the one who should be saying that,” Dean corrected. “I did this. And I’m gonna deal with it, whatever it is,” he asserted, “So stop freaking apologizing for what I did.” 

“No, I won’t,” Castiel denied, watching as Dean’s expression clouded again before he added, “Because it isn’t your fault. I’m not sorry in that way, Dean--” 

“You don’t get it! I did this, I have to—“ He snapped, but Cas wasn’t going to hear it.

“And I died to save you, remember?” Cas murmured, cutting Dean off, but keeping his tone easy, hoping he could bring the human back from whatever he was planning. 

“So you did. And I brought this down on us by bringing you back,” Dean spoke in a low voice, but it was filled with an iron will that Castiel had come to both love and hate. 

“Maybe,” Cas said, his eyes flashing as he smiled a deliberate, out-of-place, teeth-showing grin. Despite the heaviness around them, finding a reason when Dean was standing beside him wasn’t so hard. He hoped it would unsettle the hunter, he hoped it would stop the awful spiral their conversation was taking…

“Maybe what?” Dean griped, confusion showing in his stormy green eyes at Cas’ smile.

 

“Maybe you should consider what I have to say.” 

“What? That it’s your problem, that it’s your fault because I shouldn’t have brought you ba—“  
Cas pressed his mouth against Dean’s, wrapping his arms tightly around his chest. Castiel felt his heart race alongside Dean’s, the softness of those lips surprising him with the vigor they inspired. Dean’s strong arms found their way around Cas’ neck, his fingers playing gently in his hair, warm along his scalp as he pulled the angel closer. 

Cas felt himself grow weak, clinging to the man in his arms as his head began to spin. Dean broke off first, reminding Castiel of the needs of his vessel, which he felt rejoice at the oxygen the mortal body ached for. As the initial level of contact momentarily ceased, his mind flooded with a quick succession of thoughts. Why was he feeling this? This was for Dean, not for him. He needed to move things along, except... He realized distantly, he didn't want to. The few instances he'd held or kissed anyone had never felt like this. In every way he hadn't expected, being pressed against Dean felt much too right, and at the moment he was in danger of losing himself in it. 

Dean breathed in deeply too now, but didn’t let go, keeping Cas in his arms. 

“So what were you going to tell me?” He asked, his voice much less strained now than it had been moments before, the harshness replaced with a tenderness that overwhelmed all else. 

 Castiel tried to speak, confusion muddling his thoughts, he paused. All his thoughts screamed what at Dean's stopping. 

"I get it, Cas," Dean said, a hint of question in his voice that spurred Castiel back to a state of reason.

“W-we can argue like we were, or we can do this, so do you really want to bother? Because I’m here, Dean, and whatever happens, I do care.” Castiel spoke softly, resting his face against Dean’s stubbly neck, waiting for the reply. One he hoped for both selfish and altruistic reasons was yes. 

 

Dean spoke up after a moment, gently lifting Cas’ chin to make eye contact. “We, uh, both liked what we just did right? We—we could keep going, if you want to?”

“Yes.” Castiel replied, watching Dean’s face fondly for a moment before he dove in again, draping himself across Dean’s chest, which he could feel rise and fall in conjunction with his own breathing. 

Dean bowed his head, allowing Cas to plant kisses along his brow, giving Castiel ease of access as he tasted the faint saltiness that graced it. Dean worked his hands over Castiel’s back in small, reassuring circles as the tenseness in the muscles dissolved, his movements becoming more relaxed. 

Castiel felt such things welling up inside him that he didn’t know what to do with; he poured it into Dean, his hands moving to caress Dean’s neck, arms and hair as they fell into another kiss. 

When Dean broke off for air, he guided Cas towards the bed, where they now sat down, Dean leaning against the headboard as Castiel stared from where he lounged in Dean’s arms, reaching out shyly to touch Dean’s cheek. 

Cas traced the delicate contours of his face with his fingertips, a feather light touch, the handsome lips and perfect nose and solemn eyebrows that shaded the stormy green eyes, which regarded him with a look Cas couldn’t quite place. Caring, and something else, he realized. Longing. Castiel’s lips formed a smile as he realized Dean wasn’t the only one who wanted something. Despite what he’d expected, from his millennia as a relatively asexual being, for Dean, something new was waking up.

 

He felt as if he could stare into that gaze indefinitely, but Dean seemed to understand as he smiled, inclining his head slightly, an invitation he barely needed to give. Cas dove back in to kiss him again, this time on a stubbled cheek. Dean’s hands left his sides for a moment, carefully undoing buttons down Castiel’s chest as Castiel moved to his lips. Then Castiel did the same, busying his fingers with opening Dean’s shirt before he shrugged out of his button-down, Dean’s steady hands guiding the fabric away. Now Dean lifted the hem of Cas’ undershirt, pulling it over his head. Ducking free of the clothing, his heart raced as Dean peeled off his own shirt. 

He pressed his fingers to the expanse of warm, bare skin of Dean’s chest, exploring the tautness of the muscles and the curvature of his sides. He traced the snaking lines of the sun around the pentagram of Dean’s anti-possession tattoo before he began kissing his way down Dean’s chest. Dean hummed in pleasure, a growing warmth following Dean’s hands everywhere they touched his body as Castiel poured out a physical manifestation of what he’d so long felt. And Dean, Dean understood. Something in that made Castiel joyful to bursting. 

He kissed and caressed, a desire different than anything he’d felt before growing inside him. Dean seemed to feel it too, as his kisses became far deeper, and Castiel parted his lips to allow Dean in. Dean smiled as he broke away just for a moment, Castiel’s breathing and heartbeat getting faster as Dean worked his way down Cas’ body, his hands finding the button to his pants. Castiel nodded, a small sound of need escaping his lips as Dean smiled again, his words gentle, “Shhh, I’ll take care of you.” 

 

Dean worked the borrowed jeans off Castiel’s legs, pausing to kiss a hip bone that he exposed. Cas wriggled to help him along, groaning impatiently. Cas heard Dean’s quiet laugh. “Hey, we’ll get to that in just a minute. Let me get you comfortable first.”

...

Castiel tried to blot out the looming sense of foreboding for the moment with the intrinsic satisfaction of lying with his head on Dean’s chest while the hunter slept. He had drifted off some time ago, leaving Cas awake to revel in his thoughts and in the memory of the evening. Still, as amazing as it was, it wasn't quite enough to staunch the overriding sense of urgency. Feeling a bit stiff from lying in that position for too long, he moved quietly to lean against the pillow. Not quietly enough, Cas supposed, as Dean’s eyes flickered open, a small smile playing at his lips. 

“Can’t sleep?” Dean asked.

“I’ve been getting stronger. Soon I shouldn’t need to sleep at all, as I used to,” Castiel lied, denying the question, although he knew the concerns Dean expressed to be true. 

“That’s great, Cas,” Dean murmured, wrapping an arm around the angel’s shoulders, which provoked a tired sigh. 

Castiel allowed Dean to pull him close again, welcoming the warmth of Dean’s body as a barrier to the chill air of the room. 

In his mind, Cas felt everything closing in, the sickening laughter of Metatron earlier in the day playing over in his mind, rage trickling through him at the thought of it—he tried to blot it out, hugging Dean back tightly for a few moments, moments which were altogether too short. The worry churned inside him again, taunting him for even bothering to care, as if his meager embrace could somehow help shield Dean from whatever horrors were coming. He felt himself let go, his body stiffening with apprehension as he retreated within his mind, desperately rummaging through memories and ideas to find something, anything that might help. But no matter what he tried to think of, he came up depressingly empty.

 

Just as he began to fall back asleep, Dean felt the tension growing in the angel’s body. Even as he lay against him, his posture was rigid, and he seemed distant. Suppressing a yawn, Dean reached around the muscular shoulders, carefully kneading so that the tightness fell away, the angel groaning softly against Dean’s chest as he did so. 

“You…don’t have to,” Cas said quietly. “I can move if I’m keeping you awake.”

“No, no,” Dean shook his head, “I want you here, and I want you to be comfortable with me. If you want to be.” 

“Oh.” Cas murmured. “OK…”  
“So…” Dean paused for a moment, his hands falling still as he waited for Cas to say something, for anything that might help what they were doing make sense. 

“I like it here, with you.” Cas clarified. 

“Fair enough,” Dean laughed quietly, kissing Cas on the head. He felt Castiel relax a bit more, the angel’s arms finding their way around his chest again. Dean sighed, the warmth he found there erasing the doubts that had percolated moments before. He held Cas close, rubbing his shoulders and back until sleep overcame him. Drifting off with the warm weight of Cas against him, Dean could pretend to believe, if only for a moment, things might be alright.


	12. You Just Wish the Trip Was Through

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It slowly becomes apparent something is wrong, but neither Dean nor Cas know quite what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from Bob Seger's 'Turn the Page.'

Might. What a meager word it was. 

Dean awoke to daylight streaming in the blinds, Castiel’s arms still wrapped around him, snoring softly. The sight provoked a small smile before the gravity of the previous day’s events came crashing back down around him. 

 

Dean ran a hand through Cas’ hair, which the sunlight burnished with faint golden streaks. Somehow, even with Cas lying so close like this, he felt a pang of loss at the idea of what they had just established being so jeopardized by the unknown. 

This was a bad time, he realized, to have bothered exploring how they felt about each other. But if not now, when? When wouldn’t be a bad time? He groaned inwardly, trying to get rid of the pain that weighed down on him already. There would never be a time it was safe, never had been, and there never would be, he knew all too well. 

As absurd as the idea was, he wanted to protect Cas from that. Yet at once he knew he couldn’t, and despite the sheer irrationality of it all, the thought steeled his resolve that he would do whatever it took to protect him. 

And Cas, he reminded himself, Cas wasn't human. He would not be so vulnerable for very long. Not now that he had his grace back… The first time he'd met Cas came rushing back, the incredible power he'd displayed, the seeming-invincibility, and the enthralling dangerousness... To remember that he held a man with such potential in his arms filled him with a quiet sense of awe. But Cas wasn’t just a man, he corrected himself, but an angel. Though the thought of angels in general left a sour taste in his mouth, he found himself looking at Cas, feeling the perfection of Cas’ body against his own, it seemed too far removed from the absurdity of the rest of angels to matter. No, Cas was special. Cas was his angel. Something in those words seemed so right. 

He wrapped his arms around Cas’ shoulders, wishing it meant anything that he wanted to keep him safe. Safe. A ridiculous word for him to even consider. There was no safety, not in his life. 

Cas shifted, yawning sleepily. 

“Hey, sleeping beauty,” Dean said, forcing a grin, although the endearing look of confusion on Cas’ face as he came to deepened Dean’s smile until it was genuine. He was adorable, especially up this close, and the confused sort of look on his face just made it even more undeniable. 

“What?” Cas muttered, blinking rapidly as he sat up. 

“Hey, s’okay,” Dean said quickly, noticing that Cas’ unease didn’t seem to be abating. “You’re not freaking about last night, are ya?” 

“What about last night? I would never regret that.” Castiel said tiredly as he stretched. His expression eased a bit as he spoke, although the remnants of a frown remained. 

“Oh. OK then,” Dean nodded, “So uh, what’s the matter?” 

“We have a lot to figure out.” Cas replied solemnly. 

“Yeah, we do,” Dean agreed, his face falling. 

“We’re going to do this together,” Cas assured, his hand finding Dean’s arm. “It’s not just you. It’s never been just you.” 

To Dean, the words were both like a stab in the gut and a hand up from out of the pit he’d dug himself. 

“It shouldn’t be your problem, I did this—“ Dean began, the same guilt pouring out, but Cas cut him off. 

“No.” He blurted, resolve making his voice forceful. “You don’t get to take that blame. I died, you brought me back, and we are going to deal with this.” Cas insisted. “Because there isn’t any blame, Dean.” 

“You mean—“ Dean struggled out the words.

“No,” Cas hushed him again. “I can’t fault you. And if I can’t, nobody can.” 

 

Nobody but me, Dean thought bitterly. His unease must have shown in his face, because Cas pulled him into a hug, kissing the frown lines from his forehead until Dean laughed softly. 

“Where did you learn that? And don’t say the pizza man!” 

“I didn’t learn it anywhere,” Cas replied. “I just want you to be happy, Dean. And this helps. I—I’ve seen, it helps you. And I want this for you. For once.” 

 

“Happy?” Dean asked suddenly, his voice growing bitter with a reality Castiel knew all too well. “When have we ever been happy?”

 

“Never,” Cas responded with equal consideration. “Which is why you deserve something, some sort of happiness.” 

“But—“

“So what if it doesn’t last? Nothing lasts for us. But we’re both here now. So if there’s anything I can do, just tell me.” 

“You know what we need to do. We need to find out what the hell Metatron was talking about.” 

“Do you know the name of the spell you used?” Cas asked. 

“No. He didn’t tell me. God, I’ve been so stupid! I should’ve gotten answers out of the bastard!“ Dean shook his head, his voice rising to an angry yell as he sat up, turning away to face the wall. Dean felt the rage wrapping itself tightly around him as he glared down at the carpet, as if it had the answers. 

“Stupid or not, it was human. And…that’s you.” Cas’ voice broke through his thoughts, which Dean realized slowly, held no judgment. Still he didn’t turn around. He felt Cas’ hand on his shoulder now. 

“What’s me?” He asked through gritted teeth. 

“You do things like this to save people you love. I knew that from the moment I met you. I knew you went to Hell to save Sam. I just never imagined you’d do something incredible to save me. But you don’t have to pay for this. Not alone.” Cas had scrambled across the bed to sit behind him as he spoke, his arms wrapping around Dean’s shoulders. 

All Dean managed to do was scoff. There was so much more he wanted to say, but it wouldn’t come out. So he just sat, letting Cas hug him for a few minutes instead. 

“You don’t have to do this alone, Dean,” Cas tried again, moving now to sit beside him on the edge of the bed. Cas shifted so that he could see Dean’s face, but Dean turned away again. 

“I can’t.” He said, his voice a strained whisper.

“Maybe you feel like that, but I will. I’ll be there.”  
The seconds ticked after Cas’ words, an impossibly long time that was cold and empty. 

 

“Please say something.” 

“Fine.” Dean rasped, letting Cas pull him around so that they were face to face. 

Cas took in Dean’s strained expression, kissing him again, this time softly on the cheek. “What do you want to do?” He asked as he pulled away.

“We should go back to the bunker,” Dean replied after a moment’s consideration. “If there’s anything about this spell and crap, there should at least be a clue there.” 

 

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” Castiel replied, standing up from the edge of the bed. 

Dean remained staring out blankly in front of himself for a moment, prompting Cas to look back at him again as he moved across the room to get ready. 

………

A half hour later, they were racing down the rural highway in the Impala, trees and barns and fields passing in a blur. 

The quiet besides the engine seemed fraught, so Castiel took it upon himself to turn on the radio, knowing Dean often found satisfaction in music. The delicate melodies of recorder and acoustic guitar came from the speakers. From his pop culture knowledge infusion, courtesy of Metatron some months ago, Castiel recognized it as Stairway to Heaven. What he didn’t know was if Dean minded. He listened quietly as the hunter slowly began to hum along to the gentle sounds, although his expression remained withdrawn. 

"...There’s a lady who’s sure, all that glitters is gold…” Castiel did not typically sing, of course, but right now he would have done anything at all to encourage Dean. He jumped in at the second refrain. He did not know how he sounded to humans, but he didn’t think it mattered. And soon enough, Dean’s humming turned into words as he joined in, tight and hoarse at first but slowly loosening into a morose pace that matched the ballad.

"...Oh, it makes me wonder..."

“…Yes, there are two paths you can go by. But in the long run…” Their voices oscillated between the low and high, weaving the anxiety into the air itself with the tension that had permeated. Even as it leeched out, something inside Castiel lightened just a bit. Not much, but perhaps it was enough.

Castiel stopped a few minutes into the lengthy song, preferring to simply watch and listen to Dean, who glanced over when he noticed Castiel’s silence.

“Wh—“ Dean began to ask, but as they drove on, the radio faded, the musing crackling out to a formless static.

Castiel shook his head. “It was, it was nothing.” 

“Oh. OK,” Dean mumbled, thumbing the dial to find a station that came in properly. 

He settled on a piece with a moody-sounding electric guitar intro. He no longer sang, but he glanced at Cas every so often, who offered a quiet nod. Dean echoed the movement with a weary frown. They settled in to the ride as the radio extolled in the weathered voice of a performer, a sentiment that echoed both men’s in the car. “…you just wish the trip was through…”

Castiel sighed, wishing he knew the unknowable, although he dreaded it. Knowing, however bad it was, would have surely been better than this. If he knew, perhaps he could help Dean. 

They drove on through the late morning, into a pattering rain that smeared the windshield behind the wipers. The budding green of early spring outside the windows was dulled by the gray of rain that gradually picked up until it splattered the sides of the car, battering against the doors and windows like an angry giant. 

After the dozenth or so time of the car shuddering violently, Castiel looked at Dean, seeing the grimness that had set into his face, and sighed again. 

“You can stop if you need to.” 

“I’m fine.” 

 

“Of course you are,” Castiel replied flatly, inwardly wishing the human would for once open up. To stop, to…do something. Castiel knew far more intimately than anyone else just how vulnerable Dean was. He remembered scooping him up into his arms in Hell, all those years ago, the brokenness he’d seen in that barely-living soul. From Castiel, he could not, and did not need to hide that brokenness. In the world of the living, Dean hid in the strength of persistence that shadowed away the darkness inside him. But Castiel knew. And seeing it over and over suppressed in such a way that so profoundly hurt Dean stabbed inside him like it was his own pain.  
If he had been any more exacting, he’d have wished he had never learned to feel, but such a thought did not cross his mind. Dean was all that mattered to him.

 

The weather continued to worsen, so much so that Dean was forced to slow down significantly, but still he kept going. 

Castiel now made the mistake of trying to talk again.

“So, where’s Sam? Is he back from the hunt?”

“No,” Dean muttered. “Why?”

“I thought perhaps informing him—“

“No!” Dean slammed his hand against the dashboard, making Castiel frown sharply at his outburst. 

“I don’t understand.” Castiel said tersely.

“Don’t understand what? I said no. That’s pretty damn simple, isn’t it?” Dean snapped.

“Only if you insist it be this way,” Castiel replied coolly, his frown deepening. 

Although he understood why Dean was like this, he understood the hurt and the fear this came from, he couldn’t help the frustration that mounted. 

They rode on through the pounding rain. Lightening which now cracked across the sky, searing the looming clouds an eerie blue. 

 

This time, they rode without stopping, and Castiel didn’t attempt to speak to Dean again. He just watched the grim expression on the hunter’s face and the way he gripped the wheel too tightly, and wondered helplessly what they could do.

 

…

It was night when they finally arrived at the bunker. 

Dean had stopped late in the afternoon at a gas station in Topeka, only long enough to stretch his legs while he went to the bathroom. Cas bought cheap prepared sandwiches from the cooler and sodas with a wad of cash Dean had pressed into his hand, saying, “Get whatever you want.’

Castiel joined Dean back in the Impala, handing him a sandwich and drink wordlessly.

He glanced up to see Dean’s frown, his hands unmoving as he held the food.

“You need to eat,” Castiel pressed, and Dean sighed, ducking a compliant nod. 

“Yeah…thanks,” Dean mumbled, unwrapping and eating his sandwich with what Castiel recognized to be reluctance. Something inside him chilled a bit at the realization. 

At the bunker, they got out in the chill of the garage, Dean slinging his bag out of the trunk. Castiel followed him, concern creasing his forehead.

“Dean? Are you alright?” He asked hesitantly. 

“I'm fine, Cas. Just…tired,” the human replied. 

 

“Oh. Well, I suppose that’s understandable,” Cas replied as he followed Dean to the door of the bunker, which he unlocked and unceremoniously flung open.

Castiel followed him inside, the interior dark and unwelcoming until a flick of the light switches shed the brassy glow of incandescent bulbs through the rooms.

“Least we’re home,” Dean murmured under his breath. 

“Yes, home,” Castiel echoed quietly, because he had nothing else to say. 

Castiel followed as Dean the stairs and towards his bedroom. 

Castiel paused, frowning in the doorway after Dean went through.

“I'm gonna hit the hay,” Dean muttered as he threw down his bag and proceeded to strip down to boxers and his teeshirt. 

Castiel nodded, 

“Well? You coming or what?” Dean asked after a few long moments as he moved to lie down.

Castiel managed a small smile as he sighed, undressing as well to follow Dean. 

….

 

Dean woke up late in the night, Castiel resting quietly beside him. The angel was still recovering, still trying to build back his power reserves, Dean knew. At his urging, Cas hadn’t used his powers once since he’d taken on that first tremendous drain to help Dean recover from Cas’ touching his soul. Right now he was living as if he were human. He had been the one who prompted Dean to eat, to drink, lately. Dean wasn’t quite sure what to make of their role reversal the past couple days, but bigger matters weighed him down far more. His mortal vessel seemed to need the rest without the boon of his powers flowing through it, since he was keeping his power squirreled away to let it build back. 

And selfish as it was, Dean liked having him there beside him, even if it was for all the wrong reasons. It helped the cold, all-consuming pit inside him ease back a little. It helped to wake up looking at Cas’ face. It made him feel…whole. That was the word, he realized. Dean would have laughed at himself for the thought if it wouldn’t have disturbed Cas’ rest. Dean knew himself to be many things: screwed up, dry witted, and aggressive were among them, but whole wasn’t on that list. 

He shifted where he lay, trying to figure out what had woken him up. Then it hit, a burning sensation along his arm a bit below the elbow, which sizzled its way into his shoulder, up into his head. He gasped, jerking upright in bed. 

As his heart pounded, Dean looked over, grateful to see Cas seemed to still be out. 

Dean rubbed his arm, letting his eyes drift shut again as he tried to relax. 

His mind though, was woefully awake, so instead of fighting it, he rolled over, closer to Cas’ side, trying to soak in the warmth and lose himself in the simple closeness. 

The quiet void of sleep welcomed him for a time far too brief before a burning sensation crackled inside his skull, his vision searing blood orange. 

He twitched and shifted, gasping as he clawed his way back to reality. He awoke with his heart pounding in his ears, his breath coming in shaky gasps. He felt something a warm, firm pressure on his shoulder, and realized Castiel was holding him. 

“Dean. What’s going on?” The angel asked.

“Nothing just…a weird dream,” Dean shrugged, pulling away to turn on the lamp on the table beside the bed. 

“Look, I can’t sleep. I think I’m gonna go…read or something,” Dean shrugged.

Castiel moved to get up too, but Dean shook his head. “You need the rest. I…I’m fine.” 

 

Dean pulled on some sweatpants and went out to the library area, glaring at the books on the shelves as he read their spines. He snagged one on angels, opening it to the table of contents before settling back in a chair, his feet up on the desk in front of him. 

Angels… He surfed the contents before selecting a bit on the life of angels, but there was nothing in that portion to do him any good. He rifled through the pages for a few minutes before flinging it away on the desk.

He returned to the shelf and took a book, this one on curses and spells. This one he searched for resurrection information in. There was a chapter, detailing demonic bargaining and dark magic, but nothing on resurrection of angels. He flung it too aside, resting his face in his hands. 

He began to drift off where he sat until a low voice called him back to reality.

“Dean?” Castiel said softly from behind him. 

Dean raised his head, rubbing his eyes blearily.

“Hey. What’s up?” He asked, shrugging.

“You’re researching at this hour. At least let me help.” Castiel requested. 

“I…” Dean murmured, yawning. “I was more like drooling on the table,” Dean shrugged. 

“Then come back to bed.” Cas insisted, helping Dean up from the chair. 

Dean followed Cas back into the bedroom, trying to ignore the rising sense of dread that oozed from the back of his mind.

“Cas?” He said as he lay down. 

‘Yes?”

“I…something doesn’t feel right,” Dean yawned. 

“Alright,” Castiel nodded, turning off the light. “We will deal with this. As soon as you get some sleep.” 

Dean turned to lie curled around Cas, drifting off as he focused on the warmth of Castiel’s body beside him. Maybe Cas was right. Maybe they would be OK, somehow. 

 

Something pulled Dean from unconsciousness, pain searing through his arm into his head, making his vision an overwhelming red glare. He jerked upright, gasping as his eyes peeled open. He was blinded by a brilliant flare of light, one he realized with horror, exploded from within Castiel who was crumpled at the end of a blade wielded by a short angel with curly gray hair and a cruel snarl of a grin.

“Oh, hello, Dean,” Metatron taunted, pulling the blade from Castiel’s chest as he pushed the angel’s body to the floor with a sickening thunk.

The blood glinted on the blade as Metatron flicked some of it at Dean, laughing. “You know, don’t you think this is a bit odd?” He asked, giving Dean a condescending look. 

“You—you fucking bastard,” Dean growled, his voice low in his throat as he tore himself free of the bedclothes, leaping to pin the angel against the wall.

He easily wrenched the blade away, where it clattered useless to the floor.

Metatron looked peevishly at him, “Well, neither of us can kill the other, can we?” 

‘I’d kill you with my bare hands, you fucking son of a bitch,” Dean snarled. 

The angel shrugged. “I’d like to see you try.” 

“Fuck you,” Dean spat, diving for the blade. His fingers closed around it, and he lunged to strike Metatron again, who had moved towards him, but not fast enough. 

Metatron blocked the blow with his forearm, where it bit deep into the flesh, red gushing. 

“Ah, you fool,” Metatron groaned, holding up his streaming arm for Dean to see. 

“What the---“ Dean murmured, seeing between spurts of blood, the unmistakable form of the Mark on the angel’s arm.

“You don’t know,” Metatron grinned as Dean pushed him back up against the wall, rearing the blade back, about to stab it into the angel’s chest. 

“Don't know what?!” Dean roared.

“Who I am.” The angel gloated, blinking. When his eyes opened, Dean’s blood ran colder than before. Black. They were the black of demon eyes.

Dean plunged the blade now, pushing it straight through the angel's heart. 

He staggered as he stepped back, looking down as the body slid down the wall—but now, he wasn’t looking at the angel. No, now, it was a tall man with cropped dark hair and demon-black eyes now vacant green, the Mark showing between smears of blood on the forearm, an angel blade protruding from his chest.

It was him.

Dean staggered backwards a step, mumbling, his voice rising to a hoarse shout as he spoke. “No. No! This isn't me! That can't be me! What the hell is happening?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In interest of credit where credit's due, the songs are of course Stairway to Heaven by Led Zeppelin and Turn the Page by Bob Seger.


	13. Next the walls were closed on me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things take a turn for the worst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from 'Viva la Vida" by Coldplay. I always thought that song evoked a lot of emotions and themes in the show, with Cas in particular. There's some awesome SPN remix vids on youtube with that. ;) So uh anyhow without further ado, the next chapter.

“Dean! Dean!” Cas’ urgent voice cut through the terror, yet even in this state, with the image of his doppelganger being stabbed through by his own hand falling away, he jumped at the feeling of Cas’ hands on his side, shaking him awake.

His eyes ripped open, his body convulsing with tremors. Cas wrapped himself all around him, and all Dean could do was press his face into Castiel’s shoulder. Alive. He was alive. Dean hugged Cas back, nearly expecting to feel the slick of blood on his hands as his fingers gripped Cas’ shirt as if to hang on for dear life. 

Dean’s breath came in rough gasps as Cas hushed him, his hands gentle over Dean’s shoulders. 

“Oh my god, Cas. I—I saw---I’m so sorry—I—” Dean choked out, his throat raw. 

 

Castiel spoke quietly. “Shhhh. It’s OK, Dean. You’re safe. You’re here with me. There’s no one else here.” 

“No, you, you don’t—“ 

“I don’t what?”

“God, I need to go—“ Dean stood up suddenly, wrenching away from Castiel’s arms. Dean swore as he hit his leg on the bedside table as he fumbled to turn the light on, retreating under Castiel’s hurt stare as he remembered what had happened all at once. 

“Dean? Where are you going? It’s the middle of the night—“ Cas was getting up too now, following Dean to the door. 

“No, I know, I need to get away—“ Dean shuddered out the words, backtracking when Cas stepped in front of him. Now he was pinballing off to the other corner of the room, anything to get away from him.

“Get away from what? There’s nothing here. Tell me what’s going on.” 

Dean sighed shakily as he retreated to sit on the bed. 

“I—I was just here, with you, and then Metatron,” Dean mumbled, “He killed you. And I killed him. Except…” Dean trailed off, recalling the lurid vividness of the Mark on the man’s arm, and the demon-black eyes, and the sudden transformation as he fell back dead. “Except then he was me.” 

“Dean,” Cas murmured, taking a seat on the other side of the bed.

“See? Don’t you get it? Why I can’t, can’t be near you right now? God, this is stupid of me! I—that bastard’s in angel jail. I shouldn’t be freaking over this. It’s stupid. ” 

 

“No, it isn’t. I mean, yes he is locked away still so far as I know, but, Dean. You caring isn’t stupid.”

“I don’t know,” Dean groaned under his breath. He didn’t want to try to make sense of anything right now; he just wanted to get out of the room, get away from Cas, away from the fear that burrowed deep inside him at the idea of being beside him, so maybe he could get the image of him lying dead at the end of Metatron’s blade—Metatron, who was somehow also him-- out of his head. 

Castiel didn’t reply, instead quietly wrapping his arms around Dean, who sighed, trying to explain again as he pulled away.

“Cas, I uh, I appreciate it, but I really can’t.” 

“Is there anything I can do?”

“No. I just…I’m gonna go…do something. I can’t sleep. I’m just gonna…yeah.” Dean muttered, shrugging as he turned towards the door again.

“OK. Just let me know. I’ll be here.” 

He went back out into the library, and began pacing slowly between shelves and desks and boxes of files. Hours stretched by as he dug through files and flipped endlessly through books. 

He didn’t realize he was no longer alone until he felt Castiel touch his arm, startling him to look up. The angel was fully dressed, with a cup of coffee in his hand which he held out to Dean. 

“How long have you been at this?” Cas asked.

“Not long enough,” Dean muttered. “Nothing. There’s absolutely nothing!” 

He broke off to take a long draw of the coffee.

 

“What’s going on, Dean?” Castiel gestured around to the piles of books and papers scattered over the desks. 

 

“I don’t know. I just…I don’t know!” Dean groaned, sitting back, exhausted, into a chair that Cas pulled out from under a desk for him.

 

Dean huddled down around his cup of coffee, sighing heavily. 

“I will keep looking if you go shower and get dressed. I believe Sam would insist much the same.” Cas said after a few long moments. “Will you do that?”

“Yeah…yeah I guess I will,” Dean said tiredly. He finished the coffee in a few minutes as he watched Cas wheel around the room, slowly putting things back on the shelves and sorting through papers. 

 

Dean went and showered and changed clothes. Physically, he should have felt better, but he only felt more distant. A restless, dark sense of something at the back of his mind shadowed over him, calling him away from reality, insisting something was wrong even though objectively it wasn’t. but that didn’t matter, it wouldn't leave, and he was increasingly unable to convince himself otherwise. As he turned to leave his room, he picked up the empty coffee cup, which he’d left on his dresser. 

 

As he walked back towards the kitchen, the pain hit again. He fell to his knees before he knew what was happening, the cup shattering on the floor beneath his palm. 

“Dean!” Castiel came running. “What’s going on?” 

“Nothing—“ Dean began, but what he was going to say was lost as a shuddering groan ate his words. 

 

“Something is wrong,” Castiel dispelled Dean’s protests, taking the human under the arms as he pulled him up from the floor. 

Pieces of the broken mug crunched under Dean’s shoes as he shifted, hanging on to Cas’ arm as he helped him to a couch along the wall. 

 

“I’m going to call Sam,” Castiel declared, watching Dean for a response. Dean merely grunted.

“Whatever.” Came the flat reply from Dean, who slumped where he sat, nearly folded in on himself.

“Yesterday you protested when I so much as mentioned it,” Cas observed shrewdly. 

“I don’t know, Cas.” Dean murmured. “I really don't. I don’t…you’re right, something’s not right and…I don’t…” he trailed off again, his expression twisted in an uneasy way until his face became vacant again.

 

Castiel pressed his fingertips to Dean’s forehead, frowning with concentration. He accessed his powers, feeling them well up in him with reassuring strength. He was indeed improving. He searched over Dean’s soul, looking for anything out of place, but all he could read in it was a darkness of confusion, anger and pain. As alarming as his behavior was, he knew what he saw in his soul was sadly not too far out of the ordinary. Dean had always carried so much inside of him.

Sighing, he stepped back a bit, ready to go call Sam.

“Cas? What... what’s that?” Dean asked slowly.

 

“Nothing. Stay there. I will be back in just a moment.”

Dean’s head pounded so much couldn’t formulate enough of a thought to resist so he simply did as he was told. He sat, staring at his hands in his lap, which he squeezed into a fist. Then he felt something digging into his palm. He opened his hand to see a small shard of broken ceramic resting there where it had been stuck to his skin like a tiny sharp piece of sand. He closed his hand again, squeezing tightly so it bit into the flesh. Then he plucked it out with his thumbnail, curiously examining the red smear of blood that welled up from the tiny puncture in his skin.

A spasm of pain crackled in his arm again, radiating up his body until it felt like his head was going to explode. He shook where he sat, curling in on himself.

Red seared his vision. Red, pulsing through veins, pouring from gashes... 

…

 

Castiel came back quickly, frowning when he saw Dean sitting like that. He might not be able to find anything apparently wrong, but something was definitely happening. The possibilities of what, precisely chilled him.

“Sam’s coming. He’s a few hours away. I could go get him sooner—“ Cas explained as he returned to Dean’s side. 

“Don’t. I’ll…I’ll…be fine,” Dean barely managed to string the words together, his head pounding as his vision hazed up again. 

“Very well. I can keep researching, although you probably should eat. What would you like? I can probably manage sandwiches—“

“No,” Dean rasped, shaking his head as he continued to stare impassively. 

“No?” Cas echoed.

“No. ‘M not hungry,” Dean grunted. 

“OK then. I will keep trying to find something.” Castiel sighed. 

 

Castiel rustled about the library, looking for what he didn’t know. Something on how to reverse spells, something on the drawbacks to resurrection spells—anything. But the more he searched, the more helpless he began to feel. He thought he understood why Dean was so agitated. This was hopeless, or at least next to it. The only remotely helpful answer was with a traitorous bastard in Heaven, a bastard Castiel would have given anything to see dead. Especially if whatever was happening to Dean was his doing. Castiel had the sinking feeling that perhaps it was. He had seen Dean badly off before, but this was a level of dysfunction that truly frightened him. 

He had been glancing over his shoulder at the hunter every few moments at first, which had lessened to every minute or so. So far as he could tell, Dean was still hunched motionless on the couch. Where his usually dynamic green gaze was moving and flitting around with amusement, he stared vacantly. Then when Castiel checked again, he had closed his eyes.

“Dean?” he called softly. 

The hunter didn’t stir. Sighing, Castiel turned back to his work. Sleep might help the poor man. He’d barely had two hours the night before. Whatever else was at issue, enough rest wouldn’t hurt matters.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut as if to blot out what was all around him now, in his mind, projected on the back of his eyelids, drowning him from the inside out. Time became indeterminable in this state, and he had long ago given up any hopes of sating it. The invasive mental deluge of blood was accompanied by a creeping desire. The desire for something sharp, something shiny in his hand, something lethal. He could feel the weight of a balanced blade in his fingers, the shirk with which it would hit its target. His hand closed around an imaginary blade, his arm twitching in small motions as in his mind, he slashed back and froth with it, perfectly honed, perfectly deadly. The cavernous desire yawned wider, enveloping all else. A blade. He was ready. 

 

Castiel was currently poring over a large tome, this one on ancient angelic rites. It was in an archaic dialect which Dean did not read, but Castiel did. The book was both generally informative and amusing with an eccentric, dry wit that under normal circumstances, Castiel would have found quite entertaining. But right now, that couldn’t have mattered any less. Instead of enjoying the text, he was scouring each passage for any mention of the category of spell that Dean had presumably used, and increasingly, when the idea came to him, of any mentions of side effects of spells in general. The changes Dean was undergoing were too pronounced and too rapid for it to be any sort of typical process that Castiel could conceive of, and he bore none of the hallmarks Castiel knew of for a more natural mental degeneration. At any rate, ti was far too much for a coincidence. He knew Dean had, in fact, been through far more stressful events with less significant reactions. 

Just because Castiel could not discern the effect of a spell on Dean’s mind did not mean one was not there. It might be as simple as the fact he did not know what he was looking for, or as insidious as it having been constructed specifically to avoid detection. The idea of this having been calculatedly, deliberately constructed to harm Dean in such a way made him want to kill something, preferably the entity that had induced Dean to use such a spell. But he couldn’t do that now. No, now all he could do was wait while Dean rested and try to figure out what to do. So he thrust himself full force into the research, discarding that book when it revealed itself to be useless, and moved on to another, an ancient spell-book on long-lost forms of dark magic. 

Dean’s eyes ripped open. Light seared in, light from the desk lamps in the library. He was standing, although he wasn’t aware he had moved to get up, he was walking, although he didn’t consciously know why.   
He was nearing the desk where he knew an angel sword was stashed for emergencies. 

He pulled the drawer open, silently taking the blade from the black leather sheath it had been in. 

He looked down at it, his finger sliding along the cold metal so that it barely sliced the skin of his thumb. It was perfectly sharp, perfectly deadly. A dark satisfaction rippled through him. 

A shock of clarity ripped into him when the vision changed. 

 

This time it wasn’t just blood. This time it was Cas’ blood, gushing from a wound at his neck. Dean shook where he stood, gripping the edge of the desk. Horror tore through him at the realization of what was happening. Suddenly everything the bastard had said made sense. It was him, and he was losing the fight. He had to warn him. He struggled to move, to speak, but all he managed to articulate was a formless sound.

Castiel came up beside Dean, his hand a calm weight on Dean’s shoulder. 

“Dean? What is it?”

“I —“ He broke off, trying to fight the urge that was overwhelming him now. Blood…the image of the blade pressed to Cas’ throat. Blood…pouring down, blood…. 

“What do you need?”

“I need you to—“ Dean exclaimed, jerking his gaze up, but freezing himself in place again, refusing to let his hands move from where he held the blade. No…Just…no….no….

“Yes?” The angel’s unsuspecting tone was innocent, although tinted now with concern at Dean’s strange behavior.

“You need to run. Go get Sam. Tell him…” Dean trailed off again, squeezing his eyes shut as he fought another wave of the urges. Blood. His hands pressing the blade to Castiel’s throat, filleting open the arteries so that it poured everywhere, painting the entire world a scorching red. He took in a shuddering breath, trying to feel the horror that had permeated him the first time the vision had washed over him. But it was a tenuous grip. A tenuous grip on that wonderfully horrible sensation, the sole sensation that marked him as still human—no, it was slipping. No….

A prickle of terror broke through at that fact. A prickle, just a prickle. And it too was fading now, being rapidly replaced by the need, the visceral sensations of the violence it was driving him to commit—

“Run. Cas. For the love of god, run!” He struggled the words out now past gritted teeth, it taking everything in him to contain that clawing, savage impulse. 

 

“What are you talking about? Dean?“

“RUN!” Dean shouted as his defenses dissolved, the raw urges inside him nearly taking over. He felt himself grab at Cas’ arm, his nails pinching the angel through the fabric of his shirt sleeve. “You have to run. I’m—it—it wants me to kill you.” Dean shuddered in a low voice as he bit back the overwhelming impulse. A wave of pain ripped through him too now, past the urge. Pain…. Pain as he battled the rage inside of him, and a new hollow pain as it registered past everything else, even through his efforts not to, he was already hurting Cas. 

 

“It’s alright,” Castiel replied, turning to face him slowly as he peeled Dean’s death grip from his arm. The little of Dean that truly remained felt as if his guts were being ripped out as he watched his other hand, which held the sword, reach out from him, brandishing the blade, a silver harbinger of death mere inches from Cas’ face. 

“I love you, Dean.” The angel said, reaching for Dean’s forehead, power crackling in his eyes. The utterance gave Dean a little more strength to stop himself as he fleetingly hoped Cas would end it for him now, end the ceaseless years of pain and terror, the like of which he had fought all his life. End the ugliness in him that threatened to blot out the little good in his life that he’d fought so hard to hold on to. In the last millisecond before oblivion hit, Dean was aware, and he welcomed the idea of the angel’s smiting touch. 

Dean crumpled forwards under Castiel’s touch, the angel quietly taking the blade before it dropped from the human’s hand. 

“I mean that,” The angel whispered as he cradled the previously wild-eyed man in his arms, pressing a kiss to the sweat-drenched forehead. “You’re going to be OK. We will figure this out.”


	14. If You Love Me, Let Me Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from "This is Gospel" by Panic! At the Disco. (I promise I don't have any sort of problem with naming chapters or stories for songs...do I? They do it in canon...although I know, wrong genre of music. ;) This was a really emotional chapter to write (the heavy ones never come easily, do they?) and one I've worked on, on and off for months. (I don't always write linearly. My stories are kinda wibbley-wobbley-timey-wimey in terms of when I write what, pasted together with lots of editing.) Anyhow, I hope you guys enjoy!

Dean started awake, jerking violently as he opened his eyes, trying to figure out where he was. There was a rattle and snap of chain pulling taut as he tried to move. His left hand found his face, with which he rubbed his pounding forehead. The other, though, stopped far short, something hard and insistent refusing to let him move it further. He opened his eyes, his vision bleary in the overwhelming golden light that streamed down from a flood lamp on the ceiling.

Shaking himself, he looked down to see handcuffs around his right wrist. Handcuffs…?

Disorientation and panic gripping him, he looked wildly around where he sat, taking in the drab concrete walls, floor and ceiling, and the pentagram traps on the floor—the bunker, he realized. He was in the a dungeon room in the bunker…

What was he doing here? They’d been on the road the day before, on their way to the bunker—

Then it all came flooding back. The rising since of disease throughout the day before, then the nightmare and the terrifying urges, the images came again—one of Castiel lying lifeless on the floor in a pool of his own blood gripped Dean. He felt like he was going to vomit as the image seared its way into his mind. And in that instant, he wasn’t sure what had happened.

“Oh my god, what did I do?” Dean murmured, a sharp, shuddering breath in shaking his chest.

He looked up as a door on the other side of the room squeaked open.

“Hey, Dean?” Sam’s voice was quiet a first, then more excited as he stepped through the doorway to see his brother, “You’re awake!”

 

He came quickly to Dean’s side, stopping a few feet short. A few feet, Dean realized, out of his reach.

“Sammy?” Dean’s voice hung in the still air. “What did I do? Is Cas…”

 

“He’s fine, Dean. He wanted to be here when you woke up, but given earlier, I wasn’t sure that was a good idea…”

“But…Cas is alive?” Dean asked again, the words still not sinking in.

“Yes. He’s in the next room, watching the video monitor. I was just in there talking to him, making sure he’s OK. Do you want to see him? I wasn’t sure, given how things had gone before you passed out.“

 

“Yeah, sure, Sammy,” Dean scoffed, although his voice grew heavier as he continued, tinted with a chilling level of resignation. “If he can even look at me.”

“No. Of course I want to see you,” Cas hushed as he walked through the doorway too now, coming to a stop a few feet from Dean.

“Are you OK for now?” Sam asked.

“If you can call it that,” Dean muttered.

“We’ll be fine, “ Cas confirmed.

“OK,” Sam replied, retreating out the door, which shut with a squeak and a thunk that made Dean’s heart fall into his stomach.

He stared at the floor ahead of him, refusing to make eye contact with the angel.

“I thought you were going to kill me,” Dean said finally.

“No. Why would I ever do that?” Castiel replied, moving closer to put a tentative hand on Dean’s shoulder.

Dean flinched away, snapping, “Don’t!”

“Don’t what? I--I'm sorry, is that--” Cas asked, confusion lining his face.

“Don’t get near me,” Dean murmured. “Don’t risk that, Cas. Because it’s in here. And it still wants me to kill you.”

 

“I’m sorry, I’ll…stay back a little,” Cas nodded. “But what were you talking about a minute ago? Why would I want to kill you?”

“I know you, and I know you don’t want to,” Dean replied. “But it would be the safest choice. I—I can feel it. The Mark’s coming back. It’s hurting. And I don’t think I can fight it like I did last time, Cas. I’m sorry. I really wish I could tell you something better right now, but I can’t. This is it. Now I know you can’t kill me, exactly, if the Mark’s really back, but Sammy knows what to do, like we did with that bitch Abaddon. It would be better if you did it now, before the Mark gets strong enough to bring me back without the blade. It’s pathetic, but I’d rather not be awake for it. Just…put a binding bullet in my brain, then bury me in concrete and keep the blade as damn far away from me as you can. Then you’ll be safe.” Dean sighed heavily. “And I should stay dead.”

 

Castiel didn’t reply, merely watching the human lay out his plan, his expression a mixture of open-mouthed shock and pain. He clenched his fists, stepping towards Dean as he regained the ability to speak, to put an end to this nonsense, but stopped himself a few inches short of actually touching him as he struggled to find words to put to the ineffable deluge of emotion.

Dean watched, his uncomfortable expression easing a little as Cas remembered not to make contact.

“Please stop talking like this. Neither Sam nor I would ever do that to you.” The angel bent close enough that his face hovered near Dean’s. Dean gritted his teeth, gripping the armrest of the chair.

“Maybe not right now, but you would, if you knew what’s inside me,” Dean exhorted, turning his face away from the angel’s.

“But I do know,” Castiel replied gently, pausing. “Please, can I touch you, Dean? I know you’re afraid for what you could do to me, but you don’t need to be. You don’t have any weapons that could kill me, and I can render you unconscious again should I need to.”

Dean nodded slowly, the angry-looking tension in his face falling away to reveal the sadness. When he spoke, his voice was so low and raspy it made something in Cas break. “Just…be careful. Don’t let me hurt you.”

“I know it’s not you that’s trying to hurt me,” Cas murmured, pressing him into a hug that Dean both wanted to dive into and run away from, but he couldn’t do either. Instead, shoving back the terror, he leaned on Cas as much as the handcuffs would allow, burying his face in the angel’s shoulder. In all likelihood, it would be the last time, he realized bleakly.

“You do?” Dean’s voice was quiet as he looked up, but didn’t pull away. “Because I’m not so sure it matters. It’s taking over again, from whatever happened to it when you knocked me out, I can feel it coming back. I—I can’t stop it.”

“Yes, I do know. How could you say it doesn’t matter? Of course it matters! _You_ would never hurt me like that. As long as you’re in there, there’s still something to fight for.”*1.

“If you say so,” Dean shrugged as he sat back now, adding, “But damn, Cas. Just promise me, you’ll look out for you first, OK? You can’t let the fact it’s me trying to kill you get in the way of that.”

 

Castiel wanted to shake him, drive away those horrible ideas, but instead tried to calm himself, because he knew all too painfully where this was coming from. He took a moment, swallowing to try to relieve the tension that filled his throat so that he could speak.

“Because you’d sooner be shot and buried alive in concrete than risk my life?” He asked, his voice still ragged as tears began to seep from his eyes.

“Yes.” Dean averted his gaze again, his voice catching as he spoke.

“You don’t need to worry about that right now, Dean,” Cas insisted, squeezing Dean’s shoulder gently, though all he wanted to do was envelop the maddeningly withdrawn human in a hug again. “I won’t let it come to that.”

“I know you want to believe that, Cas, but you may not have a goddamn choice. And I’m begging you if it does come to it, please save yourself. I’m already damned, OK? I could go demon again any minute now. So save yourself, and save Sam. If I die or…whatever happens, you have to make sure he’s OK.”

“Dean—“

“Please! Just tell me you’ll do that.”

“Alright,” Castiel faltered. “If it came to that… I would do everything I could to help Sam. But more importantly, I'm not giving up yet, and neither is Sam. Even if you refuse to believe it, you are worth something.”

Castiel paused, trying to catch Dean’s gaze, which was trained on the devil’s trap on the floor.

“Dean. Can you at least look at me, like you at least want to believe me?” Castiel’s voice became yet more strained as he realized, with a crushing certainty now, that he was the only person in the room who entertained the remotest hope of Dean making it out alive.

“Dean!” He lost the feeble grip he’d been exerting on his emotions now, as he shouted. “Do you think this what I see in you? Do you?!”

“It doesn’t matter.” Dean ground out the words.

“Yes! It does! I know you. I’ve touched your soul—“

“That's nice, Cas. Real damn nice. But when it comes back, I’m not me anymore. And you know that. So quit pretending. This is the one thing I’m asking you to do. The one thing! And I need to know that you will do it.”

“If I had to I would do what was needed to protect Sam, because he’s your brother. But I will do anything, anything at all, for you too. And I will do that first, no matter what you say,” Castiel exhorted in a ragged shout.

“Cas—“

“No matter what you say,” Castiel insisted, “Because without you I might as well be in concrete too.” He spoke quieter this time, shaking his head as if to dispel Dean’s protest.

“Cas…” Dean murmured. Cas stared down into his eyes, seeing the glint of unshed tears.

 

“I will do whatever I have to, Dean,” Cas said again, offering another hug, which this time, Dean accepted without hesitation.

Dean shuddered in the angel’s arms, trying to hold onto that warmth, that light, as the insidious urges twined their way into his thoughts again. But it wasn’t enough.

Castiel let go of Dean, trying to move away again, but Dean’s free arm wrapped itself painfully tight around his neck, as if it could strangle the grace out of the angel’s vessel.

“Dean?” Cas murmured in a strained voice, looking into Dean’s face, where he saw to his dismay, a flicker of black growing in the typically stormy green eyes. Castiel heard Sam burst through the door. Cas held up one of his hands to indicate for Sam not to approach. “I know you’re in there, somewhere, Dean. If you can hear me, just know I’m going to save you.” He rasped the words in a hoarse whisper. With that, he pressed his hand to Dean’s head again, the human’s arm falling limply to his side as unconsciousness rendered the resurgence of the demon inside him silent.

Castiel fought back a growing horror as he turned away towards the dungeon door where Sam stood, staring grimly, his head spinning from the use of his powers.

“Are you OK?” Sam asked, his voice a little too quiet.

“I’ll be fine,” Castiel returned hoarsely as he struggled to cling to an upright posture. “But Dean…”

“I saw on the monitor, he was choking you.” Sam wavered a bit on the words, a million unvoiced questions hanging in his tone as he looked between the angel, and his brother, who was sprawled unconscious in the chair in the center of the devil’s trap.

“Yes. He’s asleep for now, but… I’m afraid the Mark’s turning him again....” Cas struggled the words out, unable to continue between the emotion and the physical exhaustion.

 

“What—what was he saying before he…started turning?” Sam asked quietly. “The monitor hasn’t been picking up sound lately, the mic’s broken.”

“Dean…begged me to kill him,” Castiel spoke slowly, color draining from his face, from far more than the physical strain he’d just undertaken, as Sam’s expression changed. “But I told him I’d never do that—he still insisted, that—but—I can’t. I—“ Cas’ mouth was open but the words failed to come out.

“No, no no,” Sam said quickly, interrupting his struggle to speak. “I’m not suggesting that. We can’t even kill him to start with if the Mark’s really back.”

“He said you’d know what to do—to shoot him with a binding bullet and bury him in cement,” Cas shuddered. “I can’t do that—”

“Nobody but him would ask you to,” Sam shook his head, offering an arm to Castiel, who quietly took it. “Look, let’s go talk out here. You look rough,” Sam added as he ushered Castiel out the door to the dungeon and past its security station, making their way towards the war room.

“I—I don’t know why I was saying that—“ Castiel murmured breathlessly as they walked.

“Because you love him,” Sam shrugged. “And it hurts hearing him say that.”

Castiel only nodded before he managed to blurt, “You—you knew?” He stopped to rest, leaning against the wall beside a hole that Dean had slammed into it with a hammer the last time he was a demon. Castiel’s fingers skittered over the edges of the hole, his gut sinking in an empty way as he eyed it. Was Dean going to come back from this, he wondered. But he pushed that away. There was currently no room for “if”s. He had to do anything he could…

“Of course I know. I’ve been seeing it, for years, honestly. Right now I just wish he was well.”

“Oh…I….” Castiel babbled as he straightened up from where he leaned on the wall, pushing off to keep walking.

“Look, it’s fine. But…do you have any idea what to do now? Because…what we did to stop it last time didn’t hold, I guess, and—“ Sam trailed off, grimacing as he shook his head.

“It’s not that the first ritual didn’t work on the Mark, Sam. It’s the spell he used to bring me back.” The words clearly pained Cas to even say them. “It’s brought the Mark back. And now he’s turning into a demon again...”

“Oh, god…” Sam began. “But…how can you tell?“

 

“You know we spoke with Metatron a few days ago, to try to find out more about the spell. But…Dean didn’t want to tell you what the bastard said. He waited, I suppose was going to tell you when you got back from the hunting trip you were on. Metatron refused to tell us what exactly, but said bad things would happen. I couldn’t tell until now, that it’s back fully, and now it’s too late to stop it. I’m so sorry. I—I wish I could have done something—I—”

 

“You couldn’t have changed anything. And of course he didn’t want to tell me, he never wants help,” Sam trailed off, shaking his head.

“Yes. We were able to go back up with Hannah’s help. Last time Dean broke in to interrogate him, she was not enthused, to say the least. She was reluctant to allow Dean in again…”

“No, I don’t suppose they were too happy about that,” Sam nodded. “But….how are we going to…”

“We’re going back up there. Or at least, I am. Someone has to stay with Dean, and I guess it should be you, since…” Cas trailed off, staring past Sam at the wall behind him. The adrenaline rush from Dean trying to strangle him was dying down, and his entire body protested the draining of his powers that sedating Dean had taken. He began to feel lightheaded as he struggled to focus on the situation before them.

“No, I, uh, I get it,” Sam nodded. “So, what will you do right now? Are you going to head to the portal?”

“I…I’m going to pray,” Castiel replied. “And hope someone willing answers.”

“Oh. Ok,” Sam mumbled dumbly, questions unspoken seeping into his tone. “If that doesn’t work, then…?”

“Then…then I will go to the portal again. But right now this will be faster. I am not strong enough to fly, Sam. I…it already took a lot to sedate Dean once. This time with the demon inside him, I—I barely had enough—“ Castiel barely formed the words as he stumbled towards the chair Sam pulled out for him. Sam caught him by the arm, concern lining his forehead.

“Whoah. Careful there. So, I’ll uh, be over in the monitoring room I guess if you need anything. Just, take it easy, and…if you’re gonna go, just…rest a little while first,” Sam said quietly. “Dean’s important but you’re no good to anyone if you can’t stand up.”

Castiel nodded, sighing.

 

He settled back in the chair, his limbs tired and his brain screaming for sleep, his grace aching with the expended power, but he forced himself to focus. The profound weakness terrified him not for his own sake but for Dean’s. If Dean woke up, he would be unable to stop him, and the thought of what stopping him might require was too much. No, he had to pray. He had to get Dean the help he so sorely needed.

“Hannah?” Castiel called out mentally, glad only that he didn’t have to speak aloud. He didn’t have the strength. “I know you can hear me. I also know I have already asked much of you, but Hannah. I need help. Dean, the spell he used that Metatron gave him—the Mark seems to be waking up, it’s turning him demon again, and I can’t help him. You know well as I do that if he goes down this road again, he cannot be killed and will kill everything he can find. I have to stop this. Not just for my or his sake, but for the entire world’s. Please send someone, Hannah. I know I do not deserve the chance, and I understand your reluctance to intervene, but for everyone’s sake, please help me.”

Castiel waited a few minutes, carefully measuring his breathing as he tried to conserve his physical strength. Sleep called to him as the overwhelming exhaustion of over-expended power and his still-recovering body sapped at his being. He fought it off, reiterating the same pleas as before. Desperation clinched inside him, as he began again the prayer which was now almost a chant, when a knock on the bunker door echoed through the building. He stumbled to his feet, barely able to stay upright as he fought his way to the door. He ripped it open, not even thinking of who was there. He thought not of the potential dangers to himself if another angel of the opposing faction had heard, but only of the urgency of what Dean needed.

Confusion made him stop short for a split second when he saw there a short woman with bifocals. Then relief surged. His prayer had been heard, whatever had been made of it, and someone had been sent.

“Hello, Castiel,” Mariah nodded. “Hannah sent me to help you.”

“Yes, c—come in,” Castiel forced out the words as the world swam in his vision. He clung to the edge of the door as he stood there, letting the angel in.

“Castiel,” Mariah appraised, a vague unease at his weakness in her voice. “You are quite unwell.”

“Yes. My power has been greatly expended—“ he gasped as his vision began to fade to a crackly black. But small hands grabbed him, and he found himself draped over the diminutive angel’s shoulder, her tiny vessel far stronger than it looked due to the angelic power flowing through it.

“Your own condition is far worse than you let on,” she noted, tsking quietly. “Hannah will not be pleased by this. Come with me, Castiel. I will transport you to Heaven considering in your state there is no possibility you would be able to do so yourself.”

“Y—yes,” he mumbled, and with that, he felt his wings passively fill as Mariah took hold of his arm, whisking him away through space until the ground came surging up, and they were at the portal. He found his feet, the world spinning around him. He thought he understood now why Dean so hated being flown places. When it was not under his own power, it felt quite different.

 

“Hold on, Castiel. Just a moment and we will be in Heaven. I—I cannot say, but I imagine Hannah will deign to allow you something to help your powers.” Mariah assured. “Since in your present state, merely being in Heaven will not produce a rapid enough recharge.”

Castiel nodded, unable to get enough air to do more.

Mariah guided him to the sand box where the portal was drawn in Enochian symbols, and the silver light flared and engulfed them.

His head swam as they materialized in the blank hallways of Heaven.

The power coursing through the halls slammed into him, filling his being like a rainstorm in a desert. He nearly groaned with relief as it washed over him.

A sharp voice interrupted the mind-numbing relief he momentarily swam in.

“Castiel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *1. The statement is not intended in an AU sense, as I'm sure many of you remember Dean stabbed Castiel when they first met in the barn in Lazarus Rising, but rather that the Dean Castiel has grown to love would never hurt him, and that he understands it is not Dean himself meaning to do this.


	15. Begging Heaven's Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel goes for help the only place he knows to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kudos and everything! That really keeps me going. :)

“Castiel.” He recognized Hannah’s no-nonsense tone as he pulled himself together, trying not to let his body shake at the surge of power that entered his grace. He was so weak, he realized. Being in Heaven almost never felt like this—at one time, he had barely even been aware of the power flowing through the halls. But now, with his being so drained, it was overwhelming. He struggled to hide this, to hide his weakness, and attempt to keep his mind on the subject at hand.

“Yes, Hannah,” Castiel replied, clearing his throat. “I know this is not the most convenient request, but—“

“But what? You, a free agent for all intents and purposes, present a need that you require Heaven’s help to fulfill. One that is purportedly of mutual interest.” 

“A—a free agent? Hannah, this has nothing to do with—“

“It’s a reasonable question,” she replied sharply, gesturing towards him. “Who are you now? Do you work for Heaven? For…your…own ideals…?” She trailed off, her voice growing bitter.

“This has nothing to do with who I am allied with and everything to do with what is best for everyone in existence,” Castiel insisted as he finally began to feel as if he could breathe again with his grace slowly beginning the long process of recharging. “Dean is under the influence of the Mark of Cain again. I don’t—“ 

“You still refuse the question.” She observed coolly.

“I, I am sorry, Hannah,” he panted. “I truly am. This is not anything I had remotely anticipated occurring. But—it has, and there is only one way I know to deal with it effectively, which is to neutralize the threat of the Mark.” 

“I understand that.” Was the stony reply. 

“I’ve hurt you. I—“  
“It’s nothing. These—human emotions. I shouldn’t be doing this, but—“ Hannah said stiffly until Castiel cut her off.

“Thank you.” His voice broke over the scant syllables, their meaning not beginning to voice the depth of what he felt.

“No. The only thanks I want from you, Castiel, is to take the traitor Metatron and go and end this. And when you’re done, kill him. Heaven doesn't need him surviving.” 

“I’m sorry, Hannah, I—“ 

“No. Don't bother. You and that human, or rather, demon—once you make him human again, stay with him on Earth. I suppose that’s what you want.” Her voice was harsh, although as Cas turned away, she added, softer this time. “Do—do you love him, Castiel?” 

“Yes. Yes, I love him,” Castiel replied slowly. “Does...that bother you?” 

“Bother me? Why would such a thing bother me?” She retorted, although the bite in her tone made it terribly clear just how much it did matter to her. 

 

“Because….”

“Because you thought I cared about you?” Hannah spat the words, “Perhaps I did. But that is a human emotion I have no right to indulge.” She said stiffly. “I don’t know what you’re waiting for. Get Metatron, Mariah will go with you to help insure nothing untoward happens until he is secured. And when you get back to Earth, stay there. Perhaps your proclivities are of greater use there than they are to us in Heaven.” 

“Thank you Hannah.” He murmured it like a refrain now, retreating under her icy gaze towards the hallway before him where Mariah waited, ushering him towards Metatron’s cell. He grit his teeth as he walked, attempting to gather the energy to fly, but failing utterly.

“Wait here,” Mariah whispered as they rounded a corner. He leaned against the wall with the back of his head pressed to the blank expanse, willing the maddeningly slow increase in power to be enough. Most times it would have been, but today he was so utterly drained it would take some time of replenishment in Heaven for him to be able to exercise his powers again. And he needed them now.

He listened as the other two angels discussed him.

“Have you seen him?” He heard Mariah whisper. He did not turn to look, however. He pretended he was not there, hoped they would make a decision in his favor.

“Yes. He is regrettably weak at present,” was Hannah’s clinical reply. 

“He isn’t just weak, Hannah. When I transported him I felt the draining of his grace myself. If he discharged his powers once more in this state it would be fatal.”

Castiel had not honestly thought of this. His concern had all along been for Dean and his lack of ability to serve his interests. But as Mariah mentioned it, the idea of his looming mortality hit him with an icy thrill. I have to keep going, he found himself thinking, although he would normally have acknowledged it with a quiet acceptance. But Dean, Dean could not be left demonic. And that aside, he hoped dearly that he would be there when Dean came back. Considering their situation, he was doubtful the human would survive losing him again.

“What are you suggesting? “ She sounded both dubious and concerned at once, the emotion warring in her voice. She made a small noise as if she was about to speak again, then cleared her throat as if trying to suppress the desire to say something else.

“The are reserves, as I understand it, although it is your prerogative to determine when they are utilized.”

“Indeed…” Hannah said in a meditative tone, sighing. Castiel remained fixed in place, breath bated as he knew his life and Dean’s effectively lay in her hands. He didn’t dare demand anything of her, but his hope hinged on the decision she made. Hannah said something quietly then began to walk away, so he could tell by the footsteps that echoed. A door creaked, and just when he was beginning to believe that he would never discover whether her decision was in his favor or not, he heard her return. He saw from the corner of his eye that Mariah approached. She wasn’t alone. Hannah stood behind her, utterly solemn but a vague emotion hovered on her face although she seemed to suppress it. She held a small glowing orb in one hand, which she held out to Castiel.

“Take this,” she told him. He didn’t have to be instructed. He broke it open with his fingers, letting the golden power surge into his being. 

It filled the emptiness in his much-abused grace, making what had been gaunt hollows in his power reserve full to bursting. He felt the change on a physical level but also a mental one. He no longer felt fatigued or had difficulty thinking. Immediately everything was in sharp relief, and the one overriding need stood out in his mind, although for an instant it was tempered by a realization. Hannah had given him a power ration. They were reserved for the greatest of soldiers of Heaven and for the most important. And when at war, they would be particularly important. He opened his eyes, 

It hit him full force then as she turned away, with the hidden pain in the tension of her face, just how much she cared. He could never return it, but he thanked her with his entire spirit for the chance she had afforded him and Dean. 

She loved him. There was no other reason she would do this. Rationally speaking, she could send most any angel to deal with or dispose of Dean by whatever means necessary to prevent him from escaping a living tomb, as he had himself suggested—the thought made Castiel shiver. But she didn’t. She chose to give him this precious resource, something she was under absolutely no obligation to do so. He looked back over his shoulder as she turned away towards her office for an instant before he nodded to Mariah. “We should fly,” he murmured, and she agreed. 

They were then instantly in the stone halls, running towards the far end of the passage, where sentries stood, alarm on their faces at the running footsteps that echoed up from the flagstone.

“Mariah?” The sentry demanded. 

“Yes, Corzoran, we are here on official business from Hannah. The prisoner is to be released to Castiel for disposal.” Mariah announced. 

“Very well. There are binding cuffs just here,” he said as he swung the heavy door open, taking a pair from a hook on the wall as he pointed out their location to Castiel. 

Castiel took them, nodding. “Rest assured, I will be certain to use them.” 

Corzoran moved to the cell door, keys clinking in his hands as he motioned for Metatron to stand. He did so, sighing.

“Castiel. Whatever is it now?” The angel inquired, smugness written in his face. “I trust you’ve experienced the surprise by now?” 

“There was nothing remotely amusing about this,” Castiel bit out the words, shoving Metatron roughly against the bars. Mariah looked at Corzoran who shrugged. “The prisoner is to be released to him?”

“Yes. Hannah’s orders,” Mariah confirmed. 

“For execution?” Corzoran asked.

“Yes. Among other things,” Castiel said with an edge of danger in his voice. 

“Excellent,” Corzoran replied. “My entire garrison died in the Fall he orchestrated. You’ve no idea how I wish it was me entrusted with his disposal.” 

Corzoran motioned for Metatron to put his hands through the slot in the bars, permitting the sentry to put the cuffs on his wrists. Metatron obliged reluctantly. He then opened the cell door, his large body blocking the door. 

“I don’t know what you think you’ll do, Castiel,” Metatron gloated.

“Be quiet,” Cas bit back, giving him a dark look. “Out of all you’ve done you have no right to speak now.” 

Metatron shrugged, grunting his disagreement. Corzoran took him by the shoulders, giving him a shove in the direction of the door after Castiel and Mariah.

Corzoran walked the prisoner along behind them until they reached the point from which they could fly. Castiel took Metatron from Corzoran, nodding his thanks.

“I wish you the best, Castiel,” Corzoran said. “And dispose of him swiftly, for all of us.”

“I will,” Castiel assured, taking Metatron roughly by the shoulder. He remained impassive when the scribe grinned smugly. “I don’t know what you’re planning to do, Ass-tiel.” 

“Nothing you don’t deserve,” he pronounced darkly as he and Mariah began to fly.

Castiel transported Metatron with a tight grip to his arm, as with the binding cuffs on he could not use his powers. 

They landed in the blank hallways, where Mariah escorted him to the portal.

“Thank you, Mariah. And please tell Hannah, I greatly appreciate her help.” Castiel said solemnly. 

“Of course.” Mariah waved him on through the portal, through which he materialized in the park again. 

He pushed Metatron ahead of him as they exited the sandbox where the portal lay. 

 

From here he flew to the bunker, a tight grip on Metatron keeping him under control. They landed in the dungeon room near the door to the observation room.

Sam burst in, the door flying open.

“Cas! What’s going on? You just disappeared, and---you have Metatron?” He gushed in confusion.

“Yes. Don’t worry, he isn’t leaving here alive. Is there a cell, perhaps, where I could take him?” Cas asked.

“Yeah, down that way,” Sam reached in his pocket, grabbing a set of keys he gave to Castiel, pointing to a hallway off the main room of the dungeon. Metatron simply glared as Castiel took them and marched him away down the hall. Castiel opened the door and shoved Metatron through it. Metatron stumbled and fell on the floor inside the cell as the door shut behind them. Castiel turned on the light and placed himself in front of the door, which he quickly locked, between the other angel and escape.

“What do you want from me?” Metatron demanded as he sat up awkwardly due to his cuffed hands. 

“What do you think this is about, you miserable piece of shit. This is about what your spell did to Dean. You’re going to tell me—“

“If you think I’d tell you for his sake you’re much farther gone than I thought,” Metatron sniffed, standing again from where he’d fallen. 

“Not for his sake. For yours. What do I do to get Dean back?” Castiel growled, backhanding the idiot where he stood. 

“Why would I tell—“ Metatron laughed openly. 

“This. This is why you’d tell me,” Cas said, his voice dangerous as he pulled his blade from his sleeve. “Because your life depends upon it.”


	16. Hell hath no Fury like an Angel Scorned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel resolves to get the information he needs from Metatron by whatever means necessary, although what he finds leaves him with a new dilemma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: this chapter contains depictions of torture from the point of view of the character being tortured. I will leave a summary in the end note so you can stay up to speed on the events in case you do not want to read this particular chapter.

“You overlook a very simple fact,” Metatron replied, smiling in condescension at Castiel’s lack of oversight “If I’m dead, I can’t tell you, now can I?”

“No, no, I have something far better in mind—” With that Castiel reached for his blade. Metatron tried to duck, but Castiel pinned his head in place with one hand as he sliced Metatron’s throat with the blade. Metatron choked as he felt the glow of his grace swirling away out the wound, through the air towards a flask Castiel held, drawing it in. 

“Now you get to watch everything you’ve done crumble,” Castiel declared. Metatron was in no condition to reply. Each heartbeat sent more blood gushing from the throat wound as he instinctively tried, and failed, to heal himself. He strained to activate his powers, but realized with a sinking certainty, they weren’t coming, and it wasn’t just the binding cuffs. He gagged, trying to hold the wound closed with his fingers, which were slipping on the blood-slick skin. “Just as I did. You understand you aren’t getting out of this alive, human or otherwise. Which you already are now—“

 

“No, no---“ Metatron gagged as an overwhelming dizziness gripped him. He struggled to speak, struggled to keep his eyes open now. 

“Speak up,” Castiel ordered, pressing a hand to Metatron’s injury. The pain flared such that Metatron’s vision seared red, but then suddenly that was gone as Castiel healed the wound under the golden glow of power that appeared in the palm of his hand. The dizziness from exsanguination receded, replaced by a fury at the fact he’d just been saved by Castiel. “Because I will do this until there isn’t an inch of your flesh left that hasn’t been flayed from your bones and pasted back. So if I were you I’d start talking.” 

“Oh, Castiel,” Metatron tsked athough his head spun, and he shook where he stood. He was not ready to give up his pride. Never to this ridiculous excuse for an angel-- “How very far you’ve fallen. Whatever are you now—“ 

“Right now?” Castiel retaliated quickly, shoving Metatron up against the wall so forcefully the brick bit into his back, all the angel’s weight forced up against Metatron’s sternum, which felt like it was going to snap. Castiel’s blade hovered inches from Metatron’s face as Castiel spoke, his voice deceptively calm. 

“I’m your worst nightmare.” Castiel pressed the blade to Metatron’s shoulder, sending pain reverberating through his already adrenaline-racked body. Metatron tried to jerk away, but Castiel held him fast, deliberately slowly running the blade the length of his arm, the nerves screaming as a fine red line spread over the cloth of Metatron’s sleeve. 

 

“Look at you, doing all this, for some pathetic excuse of a man!“ Metatron muttered through gritted teeth.

 

“That ‘pathetic man’ is a thousand times better than any of us ever were,” Castiel replied, his voice heavy. 

“Would you listen to yourself?! You love Dean Winchester more than you do your own kind! Why, you’re almost as bad as—“

Metatron winced, breaking off as he tried to jerk aside when he saw Castiel move to lash out again. But it was pointless. Castiel’s blade hit him in the stomach, ripping a large gash as he jerked the blade to the side. Cas stood back, watching as Metatron panted. He grasped at the wound, each breath twisting his face in an overwhelming agony that only found expression in the tiny animalistic noises he made. Each breath forced the wound open, each breath brought more blood pouring out—

 

“As bad as what? We were meant to serve humanity if I recall correctly, and you, Metatron, have done a truly awful job of that. At this point…I’d like to think I'm just returning the favor. On behalf of Dean, who you killed. Oh, and on behalf of the Heaven, that you destroyed, with my grace.” Castiel rattled on, though Metatron barely heard him. He clung tightly to his sliced abdomen, shaking as he tried not to breathe, tried to think. But there was nothing he could do at the moment—his grace was in Castiel’s possession. His one hope lay with the infuriating adversary who was currently gloating over him. 

“You have no claims to righteousness, so do not think I won’t do this for as long as I please. And no one is coming. You are mine, and mine alone. Ah, look, you’re just a human now, and you’re going to die holding your own intestines in. And seeing you have no other recourse, I could just let you—“

 

Metatron shook his head violently, as if the action would somehow help him. He coughed and gasped as he struggled to get enough air to speak, for with each expansion of his lungs, the wound poured blood past his hands. Reality draining from his awareness, he fell to his knees. The jolt of pain though, pulled him back enough to let his mind scramble together a couple thoughts. The vociferous human instincts for self-preservation overrode the pride that had drained away with most of his blood. 

“I’ll—I’ll talk—“he gasped.

Castiel nodded, his power glowing in his hand, although he held back momentarily, prodding, “What did the spell do to Dean?”

“It—it was dark magic,” He choked out, focusing on the one bright spot in his vision that remained: the glow of power in Castiel’s palm. That power…that was his only chance. He “It—it—“ Metatron crumpled forwards, his face hitting the cold concrete floor when Castiel finally intervened.  
Castiel grabbed him by the shoulders, pressing Metatron roughly against the wall, as he healed the wound. “I think you see I’m quite serious. Now talk!” 

“The—the Mark woke in the presence of that sort of power. B-but—” Metatron shuddered, feeling his mortal body screaming at the jolt of being pulled back from the brink. Death. He’d nearly felt its coldness… 

“But what?” Castiel demanded, holding his red-stained blade inches from his nose. 

“It’s not the problem! The spell comes with a particularly nasty side effect-- it turns the one who did it against the angel they saved.” 

“So Dean’s driven to kill me because he saved me,” Castiel scoffed. “How do I stop it?” 

“There’s a ritual—“ 

“A ritual?” Castiel demanded.

“A blood ritual. “ 

“What do I do?”

“Go through the old standard purification rite and inject him with your blood. The last bit, however, to erase the effects of the spell, is a bit different. It requires the grace of an angel,” Metatron said slowly.

“A grace? That’s easy. I have yours here,” Castiel scoffed.

“No, no. Your grace. It requires your grace.” 

“My grace? You—“ 

“No! I’m not lying this time,” Metatron cried out, wincing as he ducked from the threat of another blow from Cas’ blade. “Mine’s useless to you!”

“Then tell me.” Castiel didn’t yell, but his tone was dangerous, and Metatron didn’t need to be reminded of what the ruthless angel was capable of inflicting on him, an underwhelmingly mortal adversary. 

“Your grace has to be in the last dose of blood.” Metatron explained, his voice shaking. “Really. I’ll talk. What do you—“ 

“I need to know you’re telling the truth,” Castiel frowned down at him, making Metatron squirm again.

“I am! I am!”

“Why will this cure him? If you know so much?” Castiel landed a shallow slice with the blade, this time to Metatron’s side, which made him cry out., shaking where he stood, although the cut wasn’t as deep as he’d expected, but that made it all the worse. The adrenaline burned through his body as he stood, shaking. 

“I’m telling you the truth!” Metatron heard himself croak. “Your vessel is human! Your blood is key to erasing the physical magic of the spell. Your grace will stop him from trying to kill you as it will quell the part of it that was corrupted and shoved into him when he did the spell. That’s why he wants to kill you.”

“Why is he a demon again?” 

 

“That—that’s just incidental! The Mark awakened in the presence of that sort of dark magic—it should deactivate as it did before in the same way!”

“You’re certain you are telling the truth?” Castiel asked direly, holding the blade out barely inches from Metatron’s face again.

 

“Yes! Some angel you are,” Metatron shouted, “Torturing me! I was the scribe of God! You’re just a fallen no one, a failure, a pariah among angels who should have been killed long ago! You should have joined me when you had the chance. Imagine where we’d both be—“

“You’re right about one thing, and one thing only. Now that I have ‘fallen’, only now I can see just how wrong you truly are,” he pronounced. “And this, Metatron, is everything that was ever wrong with you. We serve humanity. We serve one another. And you? You serve no one but yourself. It will be a privilege to make certain you never harm another living thing, human or angel.” His voice was cold as he finished, lifting his hand as Metatron began to protest.

“Be silent. You have said your part.”

“No, no, Castiel! I can—“

“You have nothing left to offer. You’ve been most helpful,” Castiel replied coldly, pressing a hand to Metatron’s forehead so that the former angel would have crumpled forwards against him if not for the outstretched hand with which he held him to the wall. With that, he deposited Metatron unceremoniously on the floor, hooking the handcuffs into a chain that was bolted into the wall. He did this against his better judgment; he wanted more than he knew to say to see the bastard dead, but the possibility of killing him before he knew Dean to be cured, thus depriving himself of the single resource of use to finding the appropriate remedy for Dean terrified him. So it had to be; he would remain unconscious until Castiel was certain they were finished with him. 

When Castiel finished chaining Metatron to the wall, he went back out into the main area of the dungeon to the monitoring room where Sam was. 

He opened the door quietly, slipping back through. 

“What’s going on? Did you find out what you need?” Sam rushed as the door closed heavily behind Castiel.

“Everything is under control,” Castiel explained. “I have what I believe to be the necessary information from him. He is no longer an angel. I have his grace, and chained away at any rate with binding cuffs and comatose as I will leave him, he should not be a threat.” He felt Sam’s uncertainty in his gaze.

“Oh, okay,” Sam muttered. “But...if that’s all, what’s the matter? Do you not think it’s gonna work? What did he tell you?”

“He…he said my grace was necessary to cure Dean this time, to make it permanent. “

“Your grace? But won’t that as good as kill you?” Sam asked, jaw falling open in undisguised alarm.

“Yes.” Castiel nodded direly. “That’s the problem. I would willingly sacrifice myself for Dean again however many times I had to, but I can’t do this to him again. I know he’d rather die himself. And I do not envy the position that would put you in. And…whatever happens, this cannot be repeated. I…I will have to figure something out. I’m sorry, Sam. If you can watch Metatron briefly while I try to find someone to help, it would be invaluable.” 

 

“Yeah. Just…be careful and, yknow. Be fast.” Sam shrugged, nodding to Castiel. 

Castiel nodded, departing to the portal again. 

Mariah appeared, surprise in her face. “You’re back very soon,” she observed. 

“Yes. There are some eventualities posed by the actions Metatron proscribed. I need to speak to Hannah again.” Castiel said.

“Alright,” Mariah sighed in exasperation. “Come with me.” 

They stepped into the portal and emerged into Heaven. Mariah moved up the hallway towards Hannah’s door. She knocked, and Hannah came to it, frowning when she saw Castiel.

“What is the matter?”

“I understand you did not wish to see me again,” Cas replied. “But I need to tell you something.”

“Come in,” Hannah said coldly as she motioned for him to enter.

 

She shut the door behind him, frowning more deeply now. “What precisely is this about? And where exactly is Metatron now? Dead already?” 

“Metatron is alive but human, confined and unconscious. He is of no threat currently, rather only available as a resource until I can be certain he told the truth. At that time, I will gladly kill him for you.” Cas said.

“But why did you come to me?” Hannah demanded. 

“The events that have occurred have brought the matter to my attention that certain provisions should be made in the event of my death. My life is not a certainty, and at some point during eternity I will meet my end. I should like to set some things straight between us before it is too late, as well as secure some promises from you should my end happen within the lifetime of the Winchesters.”

“I see. And of course this is to do with Dean.” She laughed bitterly. 

“I understand this is a difficult situation—“ he began but she cut him off.

“Difficult? Have you any idea just how absurd that sounds?”

 

“I do, and I ask only because I don’t know what else to do,” he appealed quietly. 

“You really never stop asking for something else.” Hannah trailed off, thinking.

“What can I do, Hannah? I have died and will die again—“

Hannah scoffed openly now, not even attempting to disguise her contempt at the idea. “You think I can do anything about this? No, no you know I cannot. I do not know what you are going to ask of me, but if it is that I keep Heaven from attempting to bring about the apocalypse again, yes I will prevent that. I do not wish ill upon humankind, however much your affinity for that human has bothered me.”

“I’m sorry. I—I know—“ Castiel blurted.

 

“You know what? What could you possibly know about what I feel and what I believe?!” Her voice ripped out now, angry and accusing and hurt. 

Castiel shook his head. “I truly am sorry. I wish things had worked out differently, Hannah.” 

“This is nothing,” she reiterated her words from before as if they would wash away the turmoil that dwelled in her. “Jealousy is unbecoming of me, this much I do realize,” she added, this time with a confessional tone. “But I will continue as I always have. Do what you must. And I will do what I must. But Castiel. When you return to Earth, for me, stay there. I—I can’t, Castiel.” 

“I understand.” He replied, nodding. 

 

“My apologies for my…outbursts. Whatever you do, after this, supposing you survive, I hope you do it well, do it in the name of good, and…know that everything you’ve done here with us has not been for nothing. I—I’ve tried to be sure of that. Whatever becomes of you, you can be assured I will not permit my disdain for the brothers to come between me and my duties as a steward of Heaven and Earth.“

“Thank you,” he murmured. 

 

There was a knock at the door. Hannah went to answer it, ushering Mariah into the office.

“I just came from the twentieth garrison. They have incurred great losses,” Mariah interjected.

“One moment please, Castiel,” Hannah murmured. “There are matters of the war to discuss at present.” 

“Yes,” he nodded, resigning himself to wait for Hannah to finish briefing Mariah.

 

“Does he require further assistance?” Mariah asked, her gaze turning towards Castiel for a moment before she snapped back to her superior.

“Castiel merely had questions about certain eventualities. For now however, I need you to notify the commanders on the Eastern Wall of the possibility of an attack from outside the city. After that, send relief to the outer wall. I will see Castiel out, and then go to assess the damages to the twentieth garrison myself.”

 

“Yes, of course.” Mariah replied.

Hannah now turned back to Castiel. “If you have no further questions, you should go now. The sooner this is done the better.” She said simply, sighing as she rose from her desk. 

She followed Castiel back out into the hallway. He went first, towards the point where the portal articulated with the floor of Heaven, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“Castiel,” Hannah murmured. 

 

“Yes?” He turned back around, surprise in his voice and face. What was she doing?

“I wish you our Father’s blessing.” She said, her hand lingering on his shoulder. 

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice grave.

Instead of stepping back, she shuffled the scant distance forwards into his space so that her face was inches from his. She stretched tall as she could, planting a kiss on his cheek.

“May we never meet again, Castiel,” she said. “Though I hope you will forgive me this impropriety.” 

 

“Hannah, I never—“ 

“You never what? Never cared to begin with?” She laughed, an edge of bitterness leeching into her voice.

“I do care. I just, I do not care in that particular manner. “

“So be it. Go. Do what you have to.” She sighed, , her hand sliding down his arm until she let go, and turned away. 

“Goodbye.” Her words were cold again, nearly clinical if it wasn’t for the subtle iciness to them. It was her pain that created that.

“Goodbye, Hannah, and thank you for making that promise.” Castiel replied as he walked to the dematerialization point where the portal glowed. 

 

He came through the other side of the portal alone with the weight of a sense of finality in his heart. Whatever happened to him, Dean could not resurrect him again. This much was certain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Castiel tortures Metatron until he relents and discloses that Dean is indeed experiencing the effects of the spell, which has reawakened the Mark, and requires not only Castiel's blood, but also his grace to remove. Castiel visits Hannah to ask her to watch over Earth and the brothers as he anticipates curing Dean may be fatal to him. She responds with cold assurances she will not allow her jealousy to prevent her acting justly where the wellbeing of Heaven and Earth are concerned.


	17. Counting Sins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel begins the ritual process, although it takes a far heavier toll on him than anticipated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay with this chapter. My beta and I have been working through some plot holes and editing like crazy. I reworked part of the previous chapter to fill in some of those plot holes, so I'd recommend re-reading it. And...if it makes it any better there's another chapter posted back to back with this tonight?

He lingered there only momentarily before flying back to the bunker. He landed in the monitoring room off the dungeon, where Sam was waiting. 

“Hey, Cas! What’s going on?” Sam asked as he set aside a piece of equipment he had been working on. Sam’s mouth formed the hard line of a frown as he watched the sidelong glance Castiel sent the video feed of Dean. 

“He’s been alright, Cas,” Sam said. “At least, he’s been quiet. He hasn’t woken up or moved since you left.” 

“That’s as good as one can hope for, I suppose,” Castiel sighed. 

“I put him in binding cuffs on both sides, in, in case he woke up, and made sure the devil’s trap wasn’t scuffed. So, what did you find out?” 

 

“I went to Heaven to ask Hannah a favor. If I die from cutting out my grace to undo the spell…” Cas explained his tone grim, “Sam, I asked her to insure Dean does not bring me back. I must ask the same of you. As awful as I know this is, it cannot be risked.” 

 

“I understand. I—I’ll deal with it, if it came to it. But, isn’t there anything we can do?” Sam asked.

“Sam?” Cas asked, reaching in his pocket, his fingers brushing the small container it held, filled with the glowing essence of an angel’s grace. “There is something, although I have reservations about doing this—“ 

Sam faced him. “Yeah? What is it?” His voice was grim.

“This is Metatron’s grace.” He pulled the glowing vial form his pocket, holding it out between them for Sam to see. “I am uncertain if it will do what I hope, but when time comes with the last injection, I will cut out my own grace to give to Dean. So doing, I will be at risk of exsanguinating, as without my powers I will not be able to heal myself.” 

“So if you cut it out, you mean you really—“

“I will have to slit my own throat,” Castiel nodded. “With an angel blade.” Cas swallowed hard. “There is a very real risk I may go into shock immediately. I only hope…if you give this to me as soon as my grace is extracted, I may be able to gather the strength to heal myself. This grace will burn itself out within a matter of weeks, but if I do not use it immediately to heal myself, I will certainly die.” 

“So…when it burns out, you’ll be human?”

“Yes. Or I may die.” 

“You…god. I’m sorry, Cas.” Sam grimaced. 

“It’s…it’s my burden to bear, Sam,” Castiel shook his head. He thought, but did not add, ‘and it is natural. I was the one recalled from the void, and so if it is my grace that will save Dean, so be it.’ “Just…promise me whatever happens you will protect Dean from himself.”

“Of course I will,” Sam said. 

“So what exactly is the whole cure thing?” Sam asked. “Is it different from before, besides the grace?”

“No. He must receive my blood every hour for 7 hours, then on the eighth, he receives my grace in addition to my blood.” 

“Alright, I’ll get the stuff ready,” Sam said. “And…then I guess you remember what to do? Doing confession?” 

“Yes,” Castiel replied. 

He went to sit in the corner of the observation room while Sam gathered the supplies. 

He stared at his hands as he sat, dragging up all the failings he’d had over the millennia. Not surprisingly, the vast majority had occurred in the past six years, the past six years in which everything in his life had changed. And there, there were so many. 

He began to pray, listing them off. Each sin, against Dean, against Heaven, against himself, against his brothers and sisters. 

“I have sinned, I know this, Father,” he prayed. “In so many innumerable ways, for which it would only have made sense to have paid dearly, and in many ways I feel I have. I did not trust the intuition You gave me to rebel sooner, as I know now I should have. 

At least, I suppose this was the correct decision, because You resurrected me afterwards. Over and over. I don’t understand this, or Your plan, or anything really, but…I stopped trying to understand it all long ago. I know little more than the humans You left in my charge. And I have failed You, them, and myself so many times over. 

I did not tell Dean that Sam was alive. I worked with Crowley, I allowed him to rip a hole into Purgatory. I started a war in Heaven. I destroyed the wall that kept Sam’s mind safe from the memories, and assumed Your name and committed terrible acts, killing untold many of my own brothers and sisters because of my own arrogance. I killed innocents, human and angel alike. I will never forgive myself that. I have failed. I have failed You. I have failed myself, my brothers, and those I love the most. I have sinned, so very many times and these are far from all. I unleashed the Leviathan. 

I was afraid and nearly refused to help kill the rest of them when I had the chance. I fell prey to Naomi. I trusted Metatron, and allowed him to use me. I should have known, I should have stopped him, but I didn’t until it was too late. My folly allowed him to use my grace to expel the angels from Heaven.

I killed another angel for his grace. And I—I have loved Dean Winchester from the moment I touched his soul in Hell. What this is to You, I don’t know, sin or virtue, but I know I have done wrong by him many times over as well. Most recently I didn’t tell him I loved him until it was too late, and inspired great desperation in him. And now because of what he did for me, I do this to try to turn him human again. I don’t understand how this works, or how it fits with Your plans. I seldom am able to think of You without bitterness, but then if You are listening, wherever You are, You know this. You know my animosity and my distrust. But…whatever You do, whatever happens to me, please let this work. Please. If it is in Your will, which…I don’t understand, Father, and I haven’t for so very long. I am exhausted by it. But…if You are listening, I beg Your forgiveness, for these sins and so many more. Please let his soul be saved. I would do anything for that, just that. So now I ask Your forgiveness, that You might allow the misery he suffers again as a demon to end and allow me to free his soul.” 

Castiel’s prayer ended. He looked up to see Sam standing in front of him, a quiet determination and compassion in his features. 

“So, you ready to do the first draw?” Sam said. Castiel nodded, taking the hand up Sam gave him. 

He ushered him over to an office chair beside which he had the blood draw equipment set up. 

Cas took a seat, sighing as he pulled off his coat and rolled up the sleeve of the shirt he wore. 

Sam turned on a bright lamp beside them so he could see.

“OK, make a fist…” Sam said as he tied a tourniquet around Cas’ upper arm, tapping at the veins to get them to fill. 

Sam selected one and got the needle, which he stuck in, “I think I got it..” he pulled back the stopper and the dark red of deoxygenated blood filled the syringe. He pulled it out, sticking the cap on it and set it aside on the tray. He untied the tourniquet, moving back to let Cas stand up. 

“So…do you want to do the injections, or…?” He asked quietly.

“I will,” Castiel nodded. “If Dean wakes up…I need to be there to be able to use my powers to put him out again.” 

“Yeah. I…be careful, Cas.” Sam said.

“I will.” Castiel frowned, taking the syringe in hand. 

He entered the dungeon room, the door clanking shut behind Sam, who followed him.

Castiel approached the chair where Dean was, the needle full of his blood in hand.

Unconscious like this, Dean looked almost peaceful. Almost. Binding cuffs were fastened tightly about his wrists binding him to the seat, which was inside a devil’s trap itself. 

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Castiel said quietly as he lifted the human’s chin. Sam stepped up to hold his head in place, turning it to the side so that Cas had better access to his neck. “I’m trying to stop this.” He felt for the artery, and once satisfied he had located it, pulled the cap off the needle. He shoved it in deftly, pushing the plunger. 

The effects were nearly immediate. Before he’d had the chance to take more than half a step back, Dean’s entire body tensed, the chords of tendon and muscle standing out on the sides of his neck, his eyes sightlessly rolling back in his head as he began to shake in the seat. The chains of the binding cuffs rattled deafeningly as he convulsed, his head jerking about as his entire being reacted to the invasion of Castiel’s blood.

“Oh, god,” Sam murmured, alarm and pain in his voice. 

Cas frowned heavily, pressing his hand to Dean’s forehead, sending all the power he safely could along to try to quell his body’s reaction to the blood. He had known it would be violent, but seeing it was no easier for that knowledge.

“I would like to stay with Dean,” Castiel said, sighing. 

“OK, I’ll be…around…” Sam said. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“I will,” Cas nodded, sighing as he stood beside the hunter turned demon. 

Sam left, only to pull open the door again a few moments later, carrying a chair. “I thought you might want somewhere to sit,” he explained. 

Castiel went to take it from him, shrugging. “Thank you…” In truth, it made little difference with his angelic abilities, but he appreciated the human meaning of the gesture. 

He placed the chair beside Dean, and settled into it as Sam left. Castiel sat, watching the face of the man he loved as he quivered minutely, the otherwise placid façade belying the fight that was going on inside him. 

“I never wanted anything like this to happen to you,” Castiel said. “There are so many things I’ve hoped for you. So very many. And so many things I hate that we cannot stop. Our life is full of difficulty, of pain, of death, of…resurrection,” Cas murmured. “And the only thing that has made it worth it to me is you. I have done so much harm, I have died so many times, and killed so many, but if I can save you…” Castiel broke off, his voice thick with emotion. “Please Dean, if this is the last thing I do, come back, even if I’m not here to see it.”

 

…

The next hour passed slowly, excruciatingly. Castiel kept speaking to Dean, even though he probably couldn’t hear. Even if he could, the being inside him at present was likely only enraged by the sound of the angel’s voice, although Castiel couldn’t stomach the thought: the idea that whatever remained of Dean was alone inside his body with the demon he’d become, so he didn’t stop. In a low voice, he told him the stories of his long life. He told Dean about the splendor of the universe as he now recalled it through the lens of the emotions Dean had taught him, of the scarcely comprehensible intricacies of the fabric of reality and time, of the beauty of every cell in the human body, and of the profound nature of his first memory of seeing the sun rise from Earth through the eyes of his human vessel Jimmy Novak. He reiterated all the good things he could dredge up, trying to block out the pain, as if it would help drown away the darkness he knew was inside Dean. 

Eventually, Sam came in the room, pushing a cart with the blood drawing equipment and pulling a rolling chair behind him. 

“It isn’t the hour yet,” Castiel observed. 

“I know. I just, uh, wanted to keep watch with you, if that’s OK,” Sam explained, taking a seat beside Castiel.

“That is fine,” Cas nodded. “I think he would appreciate it if he was himself.”

“Maybe,” Sam agreed. “How…how’s he been doing?” He continued haltingly.

“He’s been quiet,” Castiel replied. “Whether that is a good sign is hard to say.”

“Yeah,” Sam muttered grimly. “This has to work... I… I can’t be left without either of you.”

Castiel just continued to stare at the seemingly sleeping face of his beloved.  
….

The next hours passed similarly. Once, twice, three, four times. Each time he administered the injection, Dean convulsed, and Castiel stilled his body so that he did not injure himself. It hurt more than words could convey to see Dean in this state, but still he pressed on, because he had no other choice. With each injection he administered, Castiel began to feel weaker and weaker. The ritual was taking its toll on him. Sam tried bringing him some coffee, but he felt badly enough that he didn’t want it. 

He took a few sips of the hot brew and set the mug on the floor beside his chair, lowering his face in his hands. 

“I should be alright, Sam,” Cas muttered tiredly. “It’s just draining…I….”

He trailed off tiredly, sighing.

“Cas? If you’re alright, I’m going to go make us some lunch,” Sam said.

“Yes, that sounds good,” Castiel replied. 

“OK. If you need anything in the meantime just let me know,” Sam said as he stood and headed out of the dungeon. 

Castiel groaned to himself, looking at Dean who lay unconscious in the chair. 

Then a wave of pain hit him. Groaning, he resolved to find out what was going on from the nearest thing to the source—he pulled himself upright as the spasm ended, gasping at the dizziness that gripped him. 

He made his way slowly down the corridor to Metatron’s cell, each step effortful. 

He trudged to the entry of the cell, 

The door swung open before him to the scene of Metatron slumped against the wall where he was chained, mouth hanging open in his sleep. 

Castiel gathered his power, touching the former angel on the hand to rouse him. 

The expenditure of his powers made him feel frightfully weak, as if he might keel over. He braced his hand against the rough cement wall to maintain his balance.

“Metatron. I expect you to tell me what is going on,” he said, attempting to be imposing as he stood tall, but it came out feeble-sounding. He sighed at this. 

“Oh, Castiel. You’re figuring it out now,” Metatron snorted.

“Figuring what out?” Cas demanded, gathering his strength as he reached for the chains that suspended Metatron’s cuffs from the wall. He gave them a yank, although he regretted doing so immediately. Dizziness wracked him again and he leaned heavily on the wall, listening to the peals of obnoxious laughter from the former angel in front of him. 

 

“Do you really think you can afford to waste energy on me?” Metatron taunted.

“What do you know?” Castiel retorted, his voice coming out sharp and short although he was still trying to catch his breath.

“I do,” Metatron grinned, “It’s the ritual, Castiel. The longer it goes on, the weaker you become. You’re using all your energy to keep that human from frying his own brain. If you use more to put me out again will you have enough strength to survive? Hmm?” 

“You want to die?” Castiel asked.

“I don’t know, do you want to kill me?” Metatron retorted, still grinning. “Or will I have to be more…persuasive?” 

“What if I told you I had more information you needed?” Metatron added in a conspiratorial tone.

“Tell me.” Castiel ground out the words, although he was just clinging to the wall at this point for dear life. 

“You think you can just take my grace, don’t you?” Metatron leered. “Well, there might be a slight issue with that. Namely…centuries ago, because I am insightful like this, unlike you, say, Castiel, I performed an ancient ritual to prevent other angels from being able to steal it for their own means. It will not fit another vessel. You have it trapped in your little container, sure, but the moment you attempt to use it, it will implode.” 

“Then what’s the point in keeping you alive?” Castiel demanded. 

“You won’t survive cutting out your own grace,” Metatron replied in a reasoned tone, “Unless someone is around to heal you.”

“You want your grace back?” Castiel growled. 

“Well, it would benefit you…” Metatron taunted.

“No.” The word came out cold, final. 

Castiel reached for the human’s forehead, attempting to gather his powers to render unconscious or smite, but he realized as Metatron gloated up at him that he was right. He couldn't afford to waste the power. 

“If you’re going to kill me, do it!” Metatron shouted. 

Anger growing inside him, Castiel balled his hands into fists, punching as hard as he could at Metatron’s temple. 

He shook his hand as pain seared through it, but was rewarded when the former angel slumped unconscious again to the floor. 

Staggering back out of the cell, he muttered to himself with the effort, shaking as he walked. 

 

He stumbled back to his seat beside Dean, who he nearly wept to see in such a state, shackled away. 

“I’m so sorry, Dean,” he whispered as he tried to catch his breath. “I’m so sorry, I won’t be here for you…”

As pointless a motion as it was, he found himself resting his hand on Dean’s, his thumb rubbing his wrist where the cuffs left his skin red, speaking quietly as he choked back tears. 

 

He startled when the dungeon door opened again, Sam bringing sandwiches. 

“Cas? You OK?” He called, noticing the pained expression on Castiel’s face. 

"Yes, I’m fine,” he mumbled. 

 

“You sure?” Sam pressed, concern in his voice as he handed Castiel a plate.

“Yes,” he lied, bowing his head in dejection as he took the food. 

He ate mostly for the meager hope that it would give him some degree of strength as his powers waned. He needed every bit he could get if he was to keep Dean unconscious through the last steps of the ritual. 

His fate was sealed. All that was left was to completely accept it, and hope Dean did not suffer too much from his absence. 

 

He fell asleep before the next, penultimate draw. He awoke to Sam’s hand on his shoulder, quietly telling him, “Hey, Cas, it’s time, if you’re ready again.” 

 

“Of course,” he murmured, shaking his head to himself, although if Sam noticed he didn’t mention it. 

Sam moved to take his blood again, and Castiel found himself wondering just what he would do. 

Should he tell Sam? Was Metatron even correct, or was he bargaining for his life again in the most depraved way he could? 

He decided vaguely, wearily, it no longer mattered. Dean had to be cured, no matter what. Telling Sam of the surety of risk to himself would only result in greater self-blame in the event of Cas’ death, and greater pain for Sam on asking him to make such a decision.

No, it was Castiel’s burden to bear that knowledge of hopelessness and his alone. His death meant Dean’s redemption. As much as it hurt to think of Dean without him, he had Sam’s assurances Dean would be cared for. Castiel could only pray that would be enough. 

 

When Sam handed him the syringe, he could barely stand from the chair he sat in. Sam took the syringe from him, wordlessly shaking his head when Cas tried to get up anyways. 

He watched as Sam punched the needle into his brother’s neck, and watched the ensuing convulsions as the blood worked its way into Dean’s system, violently reacting with the vestiges of the demon inside him before the wracking pain and exhaustion hit. 

“Wake me when it’s time,” Castiel mumbled before he fell into a fitful sleep.


	18. Bleeding Out For You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel fails to disclose to Sam the particular failures of their backup plan, a potentially lethal lapse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is again from Bleeding Out.

It was difficult for Sam to resist the temptation to awaken Castiel when his rest seemed to only bring pain. He could hear him calling out to his brother, Dean, asking for forgiveness. The reasons for this were out of Sam’s knowledge. All Sam knew was that Cas was weak and risking his life to save Dean’s. Sam wished that he could do something to make this easier on their friend. Dean would never forgive either of them if Cas did not make it. Still, as much as Sam wanted to awaken Cas or stop this whole procedure, if only to lessen the risk of Dean smashing his head in, he couldn’t. Castiel needed rest for a chance of survival, and if either of them wanted Dean back, the ritual had to be completed. It did not stop him from worrying though even as the clock forced him to awaken Cas for the last part of the ritual.

Sam drew the blood, setting it aside as he handed Castiel the knife he was to use. Sam knew all too well what came next. He shuddered at the thought of it. 

“Don’t worry about me,” Castiel murmured as he held his blade to his throat. 

“What do you mean?” Sam asked, but then it was too late for Cas to answer; the blade was already sliding across his neck, red gushing as he gasped. Sam held out the vial, drawing the grace in, as Cas sputtered where he stood, his grace pouring out. 

Sam corked the vial and pressed a heavy hand to Castiel’s wound, trying to staunch the flow of blood that poured out.

“S—Sam,” he gurgled, shaking his head weakly as his eyes grew unfocused, Sam fading into the background of the dull dungeon walls. “Tell Dean…he…was worth it…” This was it. Sam had his grace. Dean should live on, without him… The emptiness and loss intrinsic to that thought began to fade with the rest of reality as Castiel felt his limbs grow weak, although whether from blood loss, the loss of his grace he was uncertain.

“Cas,” Sam shouted, frantic as he shook the angel. “Hang on!” 

Sam snapped open the vial that contained Metatron’s grace, urging it out towards Cas’ mouth. But before he supposed it should have entered Castiel’s mouth or throat, the grace hung in the air for an instant, dissolving like a shiny mist burnt off by the sun.

 

“Oh my god…you—you knew,” he breathed, dropping to his knees beside the rapidly paling former angel. He shouted, his hands slipping in the growing pool of blood that flowed from Castiel. He ripped off his outer shirt, pressing it against the wound at Cas’ neck. 

 

“Please tell me you didn’t go too deep,” Sam murmured as he held pressure. 

He half dragged, half carried the semi-conscious Castiel as he made his way towards Metatron’s cell. 

 

Sam threw open the door to the cell, carefully lowering Cas to the floor. He sat him on the floor beside the door, wrapping the shirt tighter around his neck while he paused. 

“I’m going to figure out what’s going on, ok? Hold that there.” Sam assured as he left Castiel to sit there for a moment, Castiel barely managing a hoarse “Yes,” as he pressed his hands where Sam indicated. 

As he turned away from Castiel, Sam was surprised to see Metatron lying snoring on the floor. 

Sam gave a deft kick to the man’s ribs, yanking the chains so that he was forced to dangle by his arms as he scrambled to get up.

Metatron yowled, shouting, “What do you want?!” 

“What did the spell do? He’s dying!” Sam demanded.

“It did exactly what I said it would. It will cure Dean of the effects of the spell, and should put the demon in remission to boot,” Metatron smirked.

“I swear, tell me what to do!” Sam shouted, slamming Metatron back against the wall. He pinned him to the stone with one hand, landing a punch with the other. 

As Metatron fell, Sam went back to Castiel, whose pulse he checked in the wrist. It was there but thready. 

“Sorry, Cas,” he whispered, moving to take his angel blade from its sheath. 

 

Sam pressed the blade to Metatron’s throat, saying, “Tell me what to do, or you die.” 

“No,” Metatron bit back, anger surging inside of Sam. 

He let go, letting the diminutive former angel drop back to the floor without his effort to hold him up. 

Metatron gasped, rasping out the words, “Never, demon spawn.”

Sam stabbed downwards at him with that, the blade entering his stomach. 

“If you want to die sooner than later, which is all you will ever get at ths point, you will tell me how to save Cas,” Sam declared coldly, flicking blood off the blade onto Metatron’s face. 

It spattered there while sam dug the blade back into his gaping stomach wound, Metatron groaning in pain.

“Hannah,” he murmured. “She won’t come. You can scream your lungs out, but she won’t come.” He barked out an empty laugh at this. 

Sam frowned mightily. “I wish you would suffer more, but whatever comes after this for angels, I hope it’s horrible for you, although nothing could be as horrible as what you’ve done to my brother and Castiel.” 

With that, Sam drove the blade down through Metatron’s chest, impaling him all the way through. 

He turned away as the blood spread, moving back to Cas’ side, feeling for a pulse he mercifully found. 

Weak with relief, he picked him up, holding pressure to the wound at his neck, he began to pray. 

“Hannah! Metatron is dead, but Castiel is dying too. You have to come, you have to help. Please, he’s going to die, and I can’t—Dean won’t rest until he has Cas,“ Sam panted as he brought Castiel back to rest lying on the floor in front of where Dean was restrained. 

“He won’t stop. I—I know he broke into Heaven before! He’ll do it again if you don’t stop this. You—you have to help me!” 

 

The sound of wings beat the air and an auburn-haired angel appeared beside Sam. She hunched over Castiel quickly, power glowing in the palm of her hand as she pressed her fingers to his throat, the skin knitting itself back together as color returned to Castiel’s face. The former angel gasped, shaking in Hannah’s arms where he lay on the concrete floor. 

Hannah shoved Sam, who was still gaping a scant second later, towards his brother, saying, “Do what he meant you to!” 

“H—he’s gonna be OK? Because Dean will kill me if he isn’t…” Sam murmured as he moved to mix the grace with the blood in the needle for the injection. 

“Without his grace he is human,” she said shrewdly assessing Castiel’s state with a dismissive tilt of her head. “But alive for now, yes.” 

 

Sam nodded, now setting aside the flask Castiel’s grace had been collected in. He took the needle and punched it into the carotid artery at Dean’s neck, pushing the plunger all the way in. Sam braced for the oncoming convulsions, which he met with a grimace and a hand wrapped around his brother’s wrist as the convulsions started up again. 

 

Castiel gasped, the breath feeling beaten from his lungs as awareness returned to his exsanguination-clouded mind. As his vision returned, he recognized that Hannah stood over him. 

“D-Dean,” he murmured, seeing the frown on Hannah’s face come into a hazy sort of focus. 

“Sam just administered your grace and blood. I was about to check that the ritual had taken properly,” she explained as she moved away from Castiel towards to the where Dean sat, who she touched on the forehead.

She frowned in concentration before declaring, “He is both cured of being a demon and cured of the effects of the spell. And….” She tilted her head with curiosity, “It appears your grace has completely removed the power of the Mark. All that remains of it is the shape on his skin, but it is only like a scar now.” 

 

“Thank you,” he rasped. She merely inclined her head, giving him a sidelong glance. 

“I assume you…wish to see him,” she nodded stiffly. 

Castiel gave the affirmative as he struggled to raise his head. Hannah went back to his side, hunching to give him a hand up, which he took 

As he struggled to his feet, he saw Dean’s body had fallen still, the last tremors of the convulsions wracking themselves out. His head lolled to the side, his eyes open but blank and vacant. He realized Sam was standing at his brother’s side now, having already done the customary splash of holy water, which had been mercifully negative of any signs of demon remaining. Sam shook Dean’s shoulders, his wrists, pleading in the same tone that Castiel had used, hovering over his brother.

Dean, Castiel realized as his head cleared infinitesimally, was coughing, froth coming out of his mouth. Sam was wiping that away with a rag, murmuring quietly. Dean blinked rapidly, his eyes beginning to move with what seemed to be purpose. 

“Dean?” Was the sound out of both Cas’ and Sam’s lips. Castiel rushed forwards, his limbs heavy and head spinning. But none of that mattered right now. 

He stumbled to his lover’s side, hanging on to Sam’s arm and the arm of the chair as Dean seemed to come to himself. 

“Sam?” the hunter rasped, coughing shallowly. 

“Hey, we’re here,” Sam assured as he unlocked the cuffs on Dean’s wrists. 

“Dean.” Castiel enveloped the man in a hug, trying not to lose his balance as he did so, for everything still spun. 

But Dean was passive, didn’t return his embrace, instead tensing up in his arms, his head turned away. 

Castiel relinquished him, the short-lived euphoria replaced by the overwhelmingly hollow sinking feeling inside him. “Dean? You’re alright, you’re alive—and so am I,” the angel tried again still disbelieving his own life, as he tentatively put a hand on Dean’s shoulder. 

 

Dean stared down at the floor in front of him, silently shaking his head.

“Sam?” Dean rasped out again. 

Castiel stepped back a few short steps to stand beside Hannah his heart in his throat. 

Sam leaned in when Dean began to say something in his ear. 

Sam stood up, facing Castiel, defeat written in his expression. 

“Wh—what is it?” Castiel managed the words.

“He says he wants to be alone…” 

“Alone?” Castiel echoed the word stupidly, as if its meaning escaped him. Except it didn’t. It made a terrifying level of sense. Dean didn’t want to be near him. Dean didn’t want to see him….

“Yeah…I don’t…I don’t know, Cas.” Sam shrugged.

“I see…” The devastation that had ripped open inside him made his voice terse. Past the physical exhaustion that sapped at his bones, it was this that overrode it, gave him the wherewithal to remain standing. “I…I’ll go, then…” he mumbled as he shuffled away. 

The door thunked shut heavily behind Castiel, leaving the two brothers and the angel in the dungeon.

 

“How exactly did you cure me?” Dean demanded. “And what’s wrong with Cas?”

“He gave his blood and his grace to cure you,” Hannah replied curtly. 

“His grace—isn’t he dying then?!” Dean snapped. 

“He is human, and very weak,“ Hannah confirmed. 

 

“Get his grace out of me,” Dean demanded.

“If there is any left, it would be a delicate procedure,” she said, looking at Sam. 

“Just go ahead and do it, damn it,” Dean muttered. 

“It will be quite painful,” she warned coolly, but Dean just shook his head.

“Do it. He deserves to live. So save him!” Dean grit his teeth as Hannah produced a syringe, which hovered near his neck for a moment before she stuck it in and a wall of pain enveloped him. 

…..

Castiel flinched, shaking physically as he heard Dean’s cries from inside the dungeon. He collapsed in one of the chairs in the monitoring room, exhausted through and through in his weak, newly human body.

Not knowing what else to do, he found himself praying.

Father, please spare Dean this pain. Please let him be well, be whole again…. 

He didn’t know why he bothered praying to a Father he’d never known to listen, but at present he was completely alone, so it was that or his thoughts. It felt better to at least pretend his Father cared. 

He sat hunched over, devastating emptiness threatening to consume him from the inside out when Hannah emerged from the dungeon room. 

“Hello, Castiel,” she murmured, touching him gently on the shoulder. 

“Is Dean…Is he alright?” Castiel asked dumbly, not looking up.

“He might be, although that is more up to him than you or I. Removing the grace has not severely harmed him, if that is what you were inquiring.” She replied. 

She pressed something cold and metallic into his hand.

“Castiel, I thought you would be more pleased with the news, as it is good. I was able to retrieve a portion of your grace.” He looked at the item she had given him, and realized it was a steel syringe. He gaped at it, carefully pressing the plunger a fraction of an inch, to watch the silver glimmer of his ragged grace that became visible at the tip of the needle.

“You—you did?” He asked, barely believing it.

“I did,” she echoed, taking the syringe from him again. She began to unscrew the needle tip, the glow of grace rushing out now. 

“But, Dean—“ Castiel blurted, concern heavy in his voice. 

“He insisted I get it at whatever cost it was to himself. He was very clear that it was the choice he made.” She shrugged. “Castiel, please tell me you do not regard your own life so casually.” She grew irritable now, scoffing at him while she waited for a reply that took several moments to come.

“Of course I do not disregard my life, Hannah,” he said. “However sometimes I do wonder why all of Creation is inordinately miserable.” 

“You do not have to be,” she sniffed as she tipped the open syringe towards Castiel, who felt the incredible rush of heat and power as his grace found its spot inside him, filling out some of the hollow that had been carved into his being. He shuddered as it settled, the glow of his tired powers flaring weakly for a moment. 

 

“Thank you, Hannah. I—“ He managed as he struggled to his feet.

“Go about your life,” she said, shaking her head. “And do not call on me again. I will not answer you. And in terms of indulging misery,” Hannah frowned at him. “You know that better than I do, you have every chance not to be, if you will simply take it.” Her words were lined with a coldness he knew was not directed at him, a jealousy she suppressed mercifully for his sake.

 

With that, she vanished, her cold parting words ringing in his ears. He had what she could not have, and he owed her, and someone else, someone far dearer to him, everything for that.


	19. When hopelessness is sinking in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even with the worst behind them, Dean and Cas are left grappling with what happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from Imagine Dragon's Bleeding Out. It's a gorgeous song, and largely what inspired this story.

Dean felt nothing but a permeating shame as he sat shaking in the chair. He squeezed his eyes shut as he listened to Hannah’s footsteps fall away as the door to the dungeon creak shut. 

He looked up at Sam, who hovered near his shoulder, a concerned frown on his face.

“Sammy…just…get me out of here. Let me get some rest…” The words tumbled out but they didn’t really mean anything. Although the literal meaning was true enough, to him they were just excuses. They were empty to Dean. 

 

……..

 

Castiel hung back. That afternoon, he stayed in what loosely qualified as his room in the bunker, reading the books from the library, and helping Sam with research until they cooked supper together. But most of the time, he was just worrying. He was weak, he knew, but his fledgling grace would regain strength with time. He shared concerned glances with Sam, who late that night, in the kitchen, confided in him. 

“Cas I don’t know what’s wrong. He says he needs to be alone, says—says he can’t be near you. I don’t know what to do. I’ve tried talking to him, but he won’t tell me anything.” 

 

After that conversation, although he really shouldn’t have used so much of his scarcely-there powers, he hovered outside the range of human vision in the corner of Dean’s room, his being suspended in wavelengths faster than human sight as he watched. He watched Dean stare at the wall of his room, early hours of the morning until he passed out. Afraid he would fall from where he was sprawled on the bed, Castiel quietly materialized to get Dean fully in the bed instead of half on, half off. He forced himself then to turn away and go to his own room, despite ever how much he wanted to stay near him. 

Dean wanted to be alone. So as badly as it hurt, Castiel decided to give him that. He looked at his own self-destructive actions of watching Dean from his invisible vantage point that night with regret, as he stared at the ceiling of his room, trying to fall asleep. He had expended a lot of energy doing that; energy that he didn’t really have, and he knew Dean would be angry with him for it, if only he would speak to him. 

Despite the bone-crushing exhaustion that had settled deep in his chest, he was unable to sleep. The hours passed excruciatingly, aches in his body establishing themselves perhaps due to the strain of the past days, or due to the hard old mattress, which it was Castiel couldn't say, and really didn’t care. His mind was with Dean. Castiel had barely passed into a fitful sleep when Sam’s alarm for the day went off. Some time later, Sam stuck his head in the door briefly, calling, “Hey, Cas? Are you OK?” 

“I don't know, Sam,” was all the angel could manage before he buried his face in the bedding and dozed off again. He felt like he had been hit by a truck. Besides the obvious toll using his powers to heal himself would take on his state, there were other, perhaps more elusive reasons he did not simply heal himself. At the moment he rather welcomed the physical misery of the dull throbbing in his head and the ache of his joints that both told him he was still alive and served as a strange sort of mercy. It distracted him from the other pain that was not for himself but for the man he loved who couldn’t stand to look at him, a pain no amount of power could erase. 

 

The next couple days he spent in his human form, keeping Sam company, while Dean holed himself away, refusing to come out except for short trips to the kitchen or bathroom. When he chanced by Castiel in the hallway, he turned around and went the other way before Castiel could stop him. 

Although he must have heard his name on Castiel’s lips, the “Dean, please…” he paid it no attention. 

Each time the human turned away, shrugging off Cas’ concern like a wet blanket, the more the pain inside Castiel grew. 

…..

Dean spent most of his time in his room. He mindlessly watched the tv although he didn’t care about what was playing, more that it was playing, that it represented a way to drown out the cacophony of accusing thoughts in his brain. You would have killed him, they said. How many times will he have to die for you? Because of you? You destroy everything you touch, they insisted. You destroy everyone who matters. If you love him, you will stay away from him… He laughed vaguely at what should have been funny on Simpson’s reruns, flipped channels when soap operas came on, and wound up bingeing on Dr. Sexy when one channel had a marathon. Late on the second night, he was watching the midnight news with a quiet resignation. More of the world was going to hell in the figurative sense, as usual. What else was new? As shitty as the everyday events of violence and crime were, all the people out there who survived had no idea how much worse things might have been if not for everything he had spent his life fighting.

A life spent fighting... What good was it to him, though? What good was it without the one person besides Sam who he loved more than life itself? The misery set in, and he found himself staring at the tv even after it switched from news to some annoyingly enthusiastic middle-aged woman who was extolling the virtues of grossly overpriced crap. He laughed vaguely at what should not have been funny, laughed at her absurdity, and laughed darkly at himself. He had worked himself into this impossible corner, one he could not find a way out of. But when had that stopped him? 

His laughter grew louder and more spasmodic until he gasped for breath and still he couldn’t stop. It morphed into something else not remotely mirthful, much more akin to dry sobs that still held onto the convulsive quality of rhythm, when he heard a knock at his door. 

“Wh-what?” He forced out the word, struggling to still his gasping.  
The only way he managed was by sucking in a breath and holding it, so that is what he did. 

“Dean?” Sam stuck his head in, turning on the overhead light, which made Dean turn away so his brother wouldn't see. 

“Are you OK? I heard…something…” Sam muttered, concern in his voice, and surely in his face although Dean didn’t look up to tell. 

“I’m fine, Sammy. It was just this lame-ass comedy…” He pulled the flimsy explanation out of thin air, 

“Oh, uh, OK…” Sam mumbled dumbly, yawning. “Just uh, keep it down a little, if you can? You kinda woke me up.” 

“Sure.” Where he found the flippancy he put in the word he didn’t know, but then Sam was gone, leaving Dean with his thoughts and the ridiculous infomercial woman again. 

The only comedy was the absurdity of his lame-ass life, he decided. 

The laughter ended now, and he muted the tv, staring at the woman’s mouth move without sound. 

 

In the flickering light of the tv, he traced the form of the Mark on his arm. It had caused so much of this. It was now powerless, simply a physical remainder of what had happened. So much… He dragged his fingernails across it, as if he could scrape it off his skin. The area around it only reddened and began to sting. He closed his hand over it tightly. Maybe it was what he deserved. Sam had vaguely mentioned something about removing it earlier in the day, but Dean didn’t quite think it mattered. It didn’t pose any threat, but it was a reminder of what he had done. A reminder why he couldn’t let people get close to him. He turned off the tv, sitting in the dark for a few minutes before he lay down, a quiet satisfaction at the idea settling in his mind. Maybe he could deal with this. If he could just keep going, keep running, he might be OK. He pretended that was true, ignoring the insistence of the other areas of his mind that it would not be so. He fell asleep clinging to that desperate hope that maybe misery would be something he could get used to. 

 

Castiel had been startled by the strange sounds of laughter from Dean’s room across the hall. 

He had gotten up quietly and gone into Sam’s room, calling the hunter in a low voice.

“Sam?”

“Uh, Cas?” He replied groggily as he sat up.

“Do you hear that?” Castiel whispered. 

“Yeah, is that…Dean?” Sam asked, his forehead wrinkling with confusion. 

“It is Dean. I…Don’t tell him I sent you, but….” Cas sighed. “Just make sure he’s alright.”

“Cas, why don't you talk to him yourself? He loves you, I think it would help him—“ 

“He doesn’t want to see me, Sam. And I can’t force him to.” 

“No, I know, Cas, but…honestly I’m worried about him.”

“I know, I am too. Please, just…this once?” Castiel asked. 

So Sam had gone and spoken to Dean, while Cas waited silently in the hall, listening to their brief conversation. 

“That was no comedy,” Castiel observed. “I can hear the laugh track from rooms away when he watches Family Guy.” 

“I know. I—I don’t know what to do,” Sam confessed. “I really don’t. I wish he would talk. I know he doesn’t seem to want to, but can you try? He won’t talk to me either, and I’ve tried several times.” 

“Alright. Tomorrow…I’ll…try…” Castiel mumbled as he headed back towards his bedroom.


	20. I can't escape this now unless you show me how

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas finally gets Dean to open up, and finds out where they stand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is from Imagine Dragon's Demons. (Which also helped inspire the story. Me and songfics, right?)
> 
> Well folks, this is it! I hope you've enjoyed reading as much as I have writing it. There might be a couple omakes and maybe the implied sex scene posted in the future, but on the whole, the story's done.

The next morning, Castiel woke early, still feeling as if he hadn’t slept at all, and went to Dean’s door. He felt physically ill considering what he had heard from inside the night before; Dean was coming unhinged. He half didn’t want to go in at all, but he made himself knock anyway.

There was the sound of blankets rustling and footsteps padding across the floor. 

“What, Sam?” Dean snapped as he pulled the door open a bit, his face falling when he saw it was Castiel and not his brother.

Cas was unable to do any more besides stand looking at Dean, sorrow wringing him out from the inside.

“….oh…” Was the only sound Dean managed to make when he finally articulated something. 

Then Castiel found his tongue. “Dean, we need to talk.”

The hunter didn’t speak, just stood there for a moment before stepping out of his room into the hallway. 

He started walking towards the kitchen without so much as a backwards glance at Castiel, who trailed for a moment, nearly stricken before picking up the pace and following him. 

Dean was at the table in the kitchen with Cas close behind him. Although Dean didn’t seem to acknowledge his existence, Castiel took a seat beside him, sending him a worried look. Dean only averted his eyes from Castiel’s face for the next few minutes while Sam moved about cooking. 

Finally as he came to put the coffee on the table, Sam spoke up.

“Hey, Dean,” he said. His brother did nothing in the way of acknowledgment.

“Cas.” Castiel gave a weary nod, returning his greeting, “Sam.”

 

“Dean? Are you OK?” Sam asked again, prompting Dean to jerk in his chair. 

“I’m fine,” he ground out the words, making Castiel and Sam exchange nervous glances. 

“Are you sure?” Sam pressed.

“I said I’m fine.” The way he said it was obvious he meant to leave little room for debate, although the unvoiced questions hung in the air as the three pretended to be alternately interested in their coffee or in the tabletop. 

“You’re not fine,” Castiel spoke up after a tense few moments of silence.  
“Please just…say something, anything,” he begged. 

“What do you want?!” Dean snapped.

“That I’m OK? That’s not right, now is it? That I'm just fucking great?!” Dean stormed. 

“Because I dunno what the hell you want.” His words retreated to a quiet emptiness, his voice hoarse as he hunched over his drink again.

 

“I want you to be well—“ Cas began, but Dean cut him off, ignoring the quiet hiss of disapproval from Sam across the table from them. 

“Well?” He scoffed. “Good luck with that.” 

Dean moved to get up, but Cas’ hand on his arm stopped him. He flinched bodily at the contact, 

“What?” His voice was so broken, so flat it was like ice in Castiel’s heart. He didn’t want to hear him, he didn’t want to see him. Everything about him seethed with pain when he looked at Castiel. 

“Nevermind. If you need to go, nevermind,” Castiel swallowed what he’d been about to say, replacing it with the empty excuse. 

Dean ducked a stiff nod, and grabbed a plate, hurriedly grabbing toast. 

Sam and Castiel watched in silence as he left back to his room, the door shutting heavily behind him.

 

“I don’t know what to do, Sam,” Castiel finally broke the silence. “I just don’t know what to do.” 

 

They ate in uneasy quiet, hyper-aware of whatever dean might be doing. They were relieved to no small measure when they heard the tv turn on in his room, heard him laugh hollowly, raucously at some event on the show he watched. 

 

Nearly a week passed in this manner, of uneasy meals, of abrupt outbursts and overly quiet days. Sam tried to get Dean to speak, to do something, anything, but he ignored him mostly and brushed him off harshly the rest of the time. 

Eventually Sam snapped.

“Cas? I swear to god, I can’t deal with this anymore,” he said to the angel one afternoon while they sat in the library over research. 

 

Sighing, Castiel nodded. “I’ll see what I can do…”

 

That was how he found himself at Dean’s door, barging in without knocking, because at this point if he hesitated at all, he didn’t think he’d go through with talking to him.

Dean stood from his bed, Castiel reading what the thought must be the unspoken challenge of “What the fuck are you doing in my room?” written in his face.

“Cas?” He asked, his voice entirely different from the expression he wore. He sounded hesitant, frustrated, but not enraged. 

 

“I…I’m concerned about you, Dean. It’s been more than a week since you were cured. I—I want to help.” Castiel stated feebly.

 

“Help what? “ Dean raised his eyebrows, shrugging. “Coz there’s not much to help. I’m as fucked up as ever, and you shouldn’t be in here.” He absently scratched the Mark on his forearm, which Castiel noted, looking down at it as his hand dropped away.

Dean self-consciously snatched his sleeve back down. 

“Dean you’re not fucked up. You’re not a demon anymore. You’re just you. Would—would getting rid of the Mark help you?” 

 

“I know I’m not. Now, get out,” Dean said sharply, tension biting in his voice. 

Castiel turned away, heart in his throat as he moved towards the door. 

“If you need anything, Dean—“

“Get. Out…” Dean practically growled, although it felt as if he was going to implode from the pain that forcing those words out brought. 

Cas, he wanted to be near Cas. But he couldn’t be. He hurt everything he touched. He ruined everyone and everything in his path. 

He sat back on the bed, ignoring the show on the tv that kept playing. 

The Mark…he looked at it on his arm, clawing at it with his nails as if he could peel it off the skin. But it was now powerless. Revulsion ripped through him at the idea of retaining it for the rest of his life. Why did evil have to mark him as its own? He rebelled, pushing against it with a searing injustice that made him almost shake. 

Fine. If it would make Cas shut up, he would do it. He could burn it off…if it was gone then maybe Cas would stop it. He’d have one less thing to worry him over. And Dean could keep doing what he’d been, he could keep pushing him away, for his own good. Maybe this time it would work if Cas couldn't see the physical evidence of what held him back. Dean already knew he deserved a lot worse than a small burn. That was it. 

Resolve settling in his mind, he moved to find a lighter.

Castiel stood in the hall, watching through the not-quite-shut door. He watched Dean sit on the bed, hunched and staring at his arm. 

He watched him scramble around the desk along the wall until he picked up a lighter. Then he couldn’t watch any more of it. Everything inside him that had been screaming to speak again to Dean, ached for proximity, yearned to hold him overrode the doubts he’d held. 

Cas pushed the door open, heart pounding as he approached where Dean sat at his desk. 

He came up beside the hunter, who startled visibly.

“Fuck,” Dean muttered, although the surprise fell from his face just as quickly as it had appeared there. He sighed, shaking his head.

“Dean? Can I—“ Castiel began, but broke off. His throat caught and he swallowed hard, giving up for the moment on trying to articulate. 

“Can you what?” His voice wasn’t bitter, Castiel realized. Just tired. So very tired. 

“Help you with that?” He managed this time, praying silently to whatever or whoever out there possibly cared that Dean would allow him at least this. 

“It can’t be healed Cas. If it’s gonna go, and you know just as well as I do it’s gonna have to be burned off.” Dean denounced, not confrontationally, but with a solemnity and finality that made Castiel’s heart sink. He sat on the trunk beside Dean’s desk, watching him tensely.

 

“Yes, but…you don’t have to do it like that. Let me help—please!” Cas cringed as Dean reached for the lighter, that lay on the desk, frowning.

He wrapped his hands around Dean’s, gently tugging the lighter free. “It doesn't have to be like this. I can do it, Dean.”

Dean’s expression seemed doubtful, and although Castiel knew he was still quite weak relative to his usual state, he could do this for Dean. He had to, really. 

Cas held firmly to Dean’s hand as the other found its way to the Mark on the inside of his arm. 

“Fine. Just…burn it off. Get rid of it.” 

“It doesn’t mean anything to me, you know, except that you’ve fought as hard as you can,” Cas said softly. 

“Yeah, sure,” Dean grunted. 

“I love you,” Cas said quietly as he traced the mark with his forefinger. 

“Some good that did when I tried to kill you,” Dean muttered, looking away. 

“No matter what, Dean.” 

“Just get rid of it,” Dean pulled back a little, his blank expression slipping to let out the tenseness that hid beneath it. 

“I will, if you’re ready.” Castiel took a deep breath, watching Dean’s face as he set his jaw. The angel’s right hand hovered above the Mark on Dean’s forearm. The left he laced through Dean’s fingers, squeezing it as if to reassure, although he wasn’t certain if Dean found his presence comforting any longer, or merely a burden. 

Either way, this was what Dean needed, and wanted, and he was going to do it. 

Accessing his powers, he pressed his right hand to the Mark on Dean’s arm. 

Dean groaned, a raw sound escaping him as Cas’ power sizzled through his fingers to the skin, singeing away the flesh. Dean’s fingers tightened around Cas’ other hand, which Cas squeezed back as he lifted his hand from Dean’s arm. 

There was a large, raw, oblong burn, completely obscuring the area the Mark had been visible. Dean touched its edge, wincing. 

“Good.” The one resolute word was all he said at that.

He shifted, pulling away. 

“I need to heal you,” Cas said as Dean moved away in his seat. 

 

“It’s gone, that’s all I need.” Dean shrugged.

“No, I need to heal you.”

 

“It shouldn’t be that damn easy,” Dean blurted, shaking his head vehemently. 

 

“Easy? How can you think any of this has been easy?” Castiel pressed, as he pretended hearing Dean say that hadn’t been like a punch to the gut, sucking the air out of his lungs and all rational thought from his mind.

 

“No, I didn’t mean it like that,” Dean sighed. 

“Easy—easy for me, OK? I shouldn’t get off that easily. I—I don’t…“ His voice at first rose as if in anger, but then he broke off, unable to get the words out. 

“No, no. Just…let me heal you. Please,” Cas hushed, sadly watching Dean.

Dean merely nodded, bowing his head as he moved closer to Cas again. “Fine. If you really care that much.” 

Castiel’s face crumpled, but he took in a breath, putting a hand lightly on Dean’ s forehead, his eyes flashing with power as he healed Dean. His hand left Dean’s forehead, returning to the desk top.

“Can I….” Cas mumbled, Dean wordlessly complying with Cas’ unfinished request as he lifted his arm quickly, turning it over so that the area the burn had been was visible. 

“It’s gone…” Dean muttered, gasping as the pale, unmarred flesh of his forearm showed. “I…“

“This is how I’ve always seen you,” Castiel breathed. “Amazing, whole, and human. I just wish you didn’t have to carry pain or the scars of so many things you never asked for.” 

Dean didn’t reply, swallowing heavily as he pressed his eyes shut for a few seconds. 

“Dean?” Cas asked quietly after a moment. “I’ll help, whatever you need me to do—“

“Do what?!” Dean snapped. “I tried to kill you. Two times that I remember, probably more. I—I don’t expect you to just act like that crap never happened, OK? So you can quit the act!“ 

“Act? What act?” Cas asked, staring at Dean, searching for some context, for anything. Why was he saying this? Why now? 

“You don’t owe me anything. Go, do whatever you do. I don’t….you….you deserve better,” Dean managed to struggle out the words. 

 

“I don’t care about any of that,” Castiel replied, slipping an arm around Dean’s shoulders. 

Dean sighed but didn’t move, his tone unbelieving when he spoke. “Really?” 

“Absolutely.” Cas gently pulled Dean closer, and was surprised when he let him, sitting rigidly even as they leaned against each other now.   
“You’re you, that’s all that matters to me,” Castiel said. “Because…I love you, Dean.”

 

“You can’t mean that,” Dean mumbled, his voice breaking.

“I do mean it. “ 

“How can you…forgive what I did?”

“You forgave me, didn’t you? For letting the Leviathan out? For what I did to Sam? “ 

“Yeah, but…you’re…you,” Dean whispered, “And you weren’t in your right mind.” He let Cas hug him fully now, Dean’s face resting against Cas’ shoulder, exhaustion taking over. He should have wanted to get up, wanted to leave, so that he couldn't hurt Cas again, and so he could pretend to be OK, but it wasn’t happening this time. He didn’t have the strength to resist, so instead he let himself be held.

“You weren’t either. And I know you weren't the one trying to hurt me. I know you. You taught me how to feel,” Castiel replied softly. “And I want to share that, with you.” 

“I—I don’t…“ Dean stuttered, but Cas shook his head, raising Dean’s chin with his hand to kiss him gently. 

“If you’ll let me,” Castiel began haltingly, the words dying back for a moment. 

“You’ll what?” Dean rasped. 

“I’ll take care of you,” Cas offered in a soft voice as they pulled apart. 

Dean nodded dumbly, leaning in again to let Cas hold him. He didn’t know why, but he’d run out of reasons to say no. Even the dozens from the awful moment he’d woken up, realizing what he’d done fell away. 

“God, Cas, I—I love you,” Dean whispered as he struggled, and failed to hold back what had been so long coming. 

Though his eyes burned, Castiel hugged him close. Dean didn’t know how he could deserve this, but right now, he just wanted to quit trying to figure it out. 

Cas’ words replayed in his mind. I’ll take care of you. 

Wonder filled him at the idea that somehow Cas deigned him to be worth caring for. Maybe it was selfish, he decided, but right or wrong, in Cas’ arms it felt like home, and at this moment, he never wanted to leave. 

 

-fin-


End file.
